I'll Be Right Beside You
by theatricalveggie
Summary: Sequel to As If You Have a Choice. "Hey," he whispers softly, pulling me into him. He slides his hand up my shirt and scratches my back slowly with his calloused hands. "You aren't supposed to be here." This story explores Katniss and Peeta's relationship after the Tour and through the Quell. Canon-divergent. [Light Up Series - Book 2]
1. Chapter 1 - Home

Peeta and I spend the first few weeks home from the Tour sneaking around. I bring him out to the woods, although never on Sundays. We can talk out there - about the rebellion, about Prim, about family. I take him to the Hob, and while we get awkward stares, folks are happy to trade for one of the freshly baked loaves Peeta hammers out every morning from sheer habit. He never takes much in return. He wouldn't take anything if he could get away with it. No one here is looking for charity, though.

While the days aren't so bad, night has become exponentially worse. Most mornings my mother will find me asleep on the floor of the kitchen, phone receiver in hand. Those nights I do manage to stay in bed I wake screaming in terror. Peeta always shows up, but my mother never lets him inside.

Their relationship is curious. In a way she's almost maternal to him. Peeta's family never came up to the Village and she feels a sense of duty to look after him. She invites him to dinner. She sends him home with leftovers. She mends his clothes. But she's still uncomfortable with _us_. She keeps reminding me we are just kids, but I haven't felt like a child since I spit the boy from District 9's blood on the forest floor.

Sunday mornings I hunt with Gale while Peeta sees his family. The first few hunts are awkward. Little is said between us. Gale is still reeling with thoughts of revolution, still angry with my unexplained rejection. This morning, though, seems thing to have fallen back into place.

"Saw some turkeys on the way here. Crossed right in front of me like they owned the place," Gale says as he approaches our meeting place.

"How rude of them," I joke, and he smiles. The animals have been more brazen. With us hunting only once a week, and Gale spending most of his time in the mines, they've forgotten they are prey.

We move wordlessly through the woods tracking a doe. The snow is still on the ground and there isn't enough sustenance out here for the whole herd. We walked by a deer carcass earlier – picked by scavengers but obviously starved to death. _One less mouth to feed will be a mercy_ I tell myself as we move forward with a soundless tread. When we crest the hill, I spy the doe and nock my arrow. Raising it I exhale, but when I let the arrow fly I jolt backward with a scream.

I see the arrow soar and pierce Marvel's neck. Blood spurts out and he makes a horrible drowning sound, gargling and spitting as he falls. Eyes fixed on me. I feel myself losing control, hyperventilating. I look around frantically, but nothing makes sense. Where did he come from? Where are the others? Not real. Not real. Not real, I tell myself.

"Hey, hey! You're safe, you're here with me," a voice breaks into my waking nightmare, giving me something to grab a hold of. Gale's face comes into focus and I start to shake. He wraps his arms around me, and the reality of the woods is pushes its way in. My pants are soaked from the snow. My bag is on the ground, contents exposed. I stare at them – my utility knife, a length of coiled rope, a smooth, white rock. Gale collects the items and places them back in my bag. He doesn't take the stone at first, not realizing it was with me, but I quickly pick it up and shove it in with my other belongings.

"Want a stick or a pine cone to throw in there too?" he tries to jest playfully, but my cheeks burn. Like me, Gale has never seen the need for frivolous things. Everything I own has a purpose. I grabbed the rock for Peeta. We have a contest going on who can find the most perfect stone in the district. This one I got at the lake. Unlike the others we've found, it's smooth from years of erosion in the water. Peeta sees beauty in everything, so I'm trying to force myself to stop and look. To find something lovely in the ordinary. But in this moment, under Gale's scrutinous eye, it feels foolish.

I missed the doe. I'm frustrated with myself. Gale says it's not a big deal, that we got enough off the snare lines. Still, it's a light load. I don't see how he can possibly feed his family with the little we've recovered today. In the past I've tried to offer him some of the food and supplies the Capitol sends, but he refuses. He won't even accept a dinner invitation. I know he wants to earn what he has, but it's always been a team effort, and since the Games that's changed.

We walk back through the Seam in silence. I'm still off kilter from the incident in the woods. We pass my old house, but I don't look at it. Gale notices my hesitancy. It remains vacant. Technically the house in Victor's Village is mine, and my mother will be expected to move back here when I turn eighteen. I don't know what I'm doing, but my feet lead me to the front door. I stare at the wood grain.

"Do you want to go inside?" Gale asks.

"No," I reply, but my hand twists the knob and I walk into the kitchen, leaving the door ajar. Gale follows silently, closing the door behind him. Everything here looks the same. The table is worn from years of family meals. Notches climb the door frame showing Prim and my height over the years. There's a large gap where you'd think we both must have had a growth spurt, but the absence of notches just shows when my dad died. When my mom retreated into her mind. When caring how much your daughters grew was tucked away behind grief and sadness. Still, it feels like home. It feels like my old life.

My fingers trace the doors of the cabinets, and I feel Gale's eyes follow me. "I miss you being here. Being close," he says so quietly I barely catch it.

"I miss how things used to be," I reply. It's not a lie. I miss when everything was simpler; when my biggest concern was putting food on the table and not the fate of a nation. Gale misinterprets what I'm saying, and steps closer. "Are we ever going to be friends again?" I ask, and he pauses. I can tell he's presenting and discarding different responses in his head. Friends was not the word he wanted to hear from me. "I should go home," I state as I step past him toward the door. I pause at the threshold. "Come to dinner. If you want."

Gale doesn't show. Peeta doesn't normally eat with us on Sundays. He's too full from eating with his family. Sometimes he will show up with some kind of confection and leave it in our kitchen. Tonight, it's just us. Prim is alive with stories. She's almost on winter break from school, and she's telling us how one of her friends from Town ordered a sled. Prim has always made friends easily. She's likable and genuinely kind. It's hard for people not to love her. The divide that gapes between Seam and Town has never been insurmountable to her the way it is to most of us.

We go to bed with full bellies. My mother and sister settle in quickly, and the house stills with even, slow breathing. I stare at my ceiling until my eyes grow heavy.

 _I'm sinking. I'm in the lake, but the night is dark and the water is translucent and cloudy. Moonbeams penetrate the surface, but all it tells me is how far from air I am. I'm pinned to the floor, a heavy stone pressing on my chest. I watch fish swim above me, but they have sharp teeth and greedy eyes. My chest burns with want of air. I can't feel my fingertips, and the bitterness sinks into my bones. The water turns red, and I realize I'm bleeding. A boat glides across the surface, and a body is dropped off in a sack. It sinks down next to me. Prim. Cold. Pale. I try to reach her, but the stone grows heavier, pressing me down, pushing me into the murky lake floor that teems with leeches and grass._

I come to gasping for air. I can't scream without air. It's a silent nightmare. My body is drenched with sweat and I throw the blankets off me. The icy night air chills my body and I go to wash up in the bathroom. I creep downstairs and find the fire out. My mother was the last up; she must have forgotten to stoke the stove before bed. I get some kindling and light a small fire, adding some larger logs once the flames are robust enough. I'm moving mechanically, although I don't feel totally present. I feel like I'm at the bottom of the lake.

Before I know what I'm doing, I open the front door to my house. I'm barefoot and wearing nothing but a nightshirt. The frozen air bites at my skin, and on silent feet I run across my lawn. Peeta's door is unlocked. I open it quietly and creep inside. The fire in his living room burns with a lively crackle, his house inviting and warm. I haven't spent much time here. My mother doesn't like us alone. I follow the stairs to the master bedroom, but I find it empty. Peeta lives in a smaller bedroom down the hall. In the same room that I sleep in at my house.

The air in his room is colder from the slightly cracked window on the far wall. Peeta is asleep on his stomach, his bare back rising and falling with a regular, slow tempo. I lift the covers and crawl inside next to him. He sleepily wraps his arms around me, then wakes, realizing I'm in his bed.

"Hey," he whispers softly, pulling me into him. He slides his hand up my shirt and scratches my back slowly with his calloused hands. "You aren't supposed to be here."

"I drowned," I breathe, and he presses his mouth to forehead.

"Nope, you're all dry. You'd be soaked if you drowned," he replies. He's trying to force me out of my dream. Make me see reality. Think logically. "And your lips would be blue," he says, kissing them gently. I start to warm up. He slides his legs around mine, and shivers slightly. "Kat, your feet are frozen." He sits in bed, looking down at me. "Did you walk here barefoot?" I avoid his stern look. "Well then," he says, before diving under the covers.

I laugh and kick. "Peeta stop!" I can hardly breathe. His body is hot from sleep, and his hands wrap around my feet, rubbing warmth into them. I melt into the bed. He breathes under the covers and my whole body comes back to life. I tell myself I'm not drowning. I'm in Peeta's bed. When he finally emerges, satisfied that my feet aren't going to fall off, he curls into me, pressing his chest into my back.

"You should go home," he breathes into my hair.

"How long until you get up to bake?" I ask.

"Mmm… Two or three hours," he guesses, looking out his window at the sky.

"Then sleep with me for two or three hours," I beg softly.

Peeta rolls on his back and his head falls back on his pillow. I rest my head on his chest and listen to the steady thud until I drift into a dreamless sleep, absent cold water and my sister's body in a sack. I dream of nothingness.


	2. Chapter 2 - Woods

Peeta wakes me too soon. I bury my face in his chest, but he forces us out of bed. I steal a pair of his shoes and a jacket, and I catch his eyes all over me as I stand in his doorway, bare legs peeking out. He steps forward and pulls me into him. "You kill me," he groans into my mouth, wrapping his arms around my neck. I should go before we get carried away. I dart out his door and across the snow-covered yard to my house. My footfalls are silent as I sneak up to my room. My family is still sleeping. I hide Peeta's shoes and jacket in the bottom of my closet and pull the blanket from my bed. I wrap it around my body, head to the kitchen, and curl up on the floor. I pull the receiver from the phone and lay it next to me, trying to doze off listening to the dial tone. It's a couple hours before my mother comes downstairs and ushers me up to bed.

The week drags. Peeta is over a lot, although I hardly talk to him. Prim has winter finals, and the two of them spend most of their time buried in her homework. Prim skipped a grade last year, and while she is particularly adept with math and science, the work is challenging. Peeta scribbles formulas on scrap paper and they work through them together. Peeta tells me his dad is terrible with the books at the bakery, and he's been doing the accounting with Bannock since he was ten. I remember him telling me Bannock was the smart one, but Peeta's never been one to brag.

The day before Prim's math final, she and Peeta fall asleep on the couch in the living room, books sprawled between them. Prim has an ink smudge between her index and middle finger on her right hand, and she's been worrying for days it will be permanent. I pull the pen from her hand and lift her up. She's heavy, but she instinctively wraps her legs around my waist. I carry her up to her room and tuck her in. Mom hovers in the doorway, watching me.

"Peeta's asleep on the couch, I'll go tell him to go home," I whisper, gently closing Prim's door behind me.

"It's late, go to bed," she's says back, her voice hushed. I look over my shoulder to the stairs before heading to my room. I see my mother pull an extra blanket from the linen closet and slip downstairs. I duck through my door before she catches me spying. The next morning, I come downstairs to find the couch empty, blanket folded neatly on the cushion. Peeta left a drawing for Prim on the counter. She's riding a giant horse named Pythagoras. I don't get it, but I leave the drawing for her and pour myself a glass of milk. Buttercup springs up to the counter and tries to stick his dirty tongue in my glass, but I hiss at him and he leaps to the ground. I remember quickly that I'm supposed to meet Gale. School gets out early today after finals, so the mines are closed.

I throw on my hunting jacket and boots and pack a bag before heading straight to the woods. We are hiking to the house by the lake today, which will take most of the day. The trek is long, and house is a generous word for four cement walls and a fire place. Last night was windy, and the snow drifts between trees are up to my waist at times. The clothes Cinna sent me home with hold in the heat, and soon I'm sweating and stripping layers. I find Gale's tracks and race to catch up to him. He's already grabbed my bow and hands it to me, an extra slung over his shoulder.

"Hey, you were late," he says, smiling down at me.

"Sorry, Prim kept me up last night," I reply. Well, sort of a lie.

We walk most of the way in silence, but it feels good. Familiar. I don't know why I wanted to come out here today. Maybe to see the house. Talk to my dad. Clear the air with Gale. I don't know.

It takes nearly twice as long to get there as normal. When the lake comes into view, my pace picks up. I'm only a few yards from the door when Gale stops in front of me and turns around. "Katniss, did Snow make another threat?" he asks.

"What? No. I would have told you that," I spit out. I'm not sure where that question came from.

"I just don't get it then," he says quietly.

"Get what?" I reply.

"Why are you still pretending with him?" Gale asks. The glare of the winter sun off the snow is playing tricks on my vision and Gale's directness sends my heart hammering in my ears. Maybe that's why I don't notice the signs. But he doesn't either. A thin stream of smoke escaping from the chimney. Fresh footprints in the snow. The smell of burnt pine. It's not until I hear the unmistakable click of a weapon that my senses come into focus.

Gale's hands reach for the air, but I instinctively load an arrow. I'm staring down a Peacekeeper, white uniform dirty next to the pristine snow, their gun point blank at Gale's head. We stare at each other, each daring the other to act first. I don't know why she hasn't killed Gale yet. I've never known a Peacekeeper to hesitate.

"Wait!" A second Peacekeeper screams, coming out from the cabin, but the moment's distraction is enough. Gale has a physical advantage on his captor, and throws himself back into her. The gun falls from her hand and he grabs it from the snow. We stare down the two Peacekeepers, but everything is out of sorts. What are they doing here, in the woods?

"On your knees!" Gale screams, and the two Peacekeepers drop heavily into the snow. He looks at me, but we don't need words. We're going to have to execute them. We don't have another choice. We'll both be hanged for being outside the border fence. Poaching on Capitol land. I don't want to do this. I feel my tongue go dry.

"Wait!" the taller Peacekeeper cries again, and she drops something from her hand. It almost melts into the snow, but I see what she wants me to. A cracker. With a Mockingjay on it. Soggy and old and gone.

"What was it?" Gale asks sternly, his eyes still trained on the enemy.

"It was… a Mockingjay…" I reply, my words still unsure.

"Why do you have her token?" Gale barks, and the women cower.

"It means we're on your side," the older woman answers, her voice trembling.

"Get up," I order.

"She can't," the smaller woman says. Something is not right about these two.

"I said get up," I repeat myself, training my arrow with deadly aim.

"Okay, okay!" the woman complies. She forces herself to her feet, but it's immediately apparent she's hurt, her left foot dragging behind her as she tries to avoid putting weight on it. With Gale's gun still in place, I step forward and pull her helmet from her head. Underneath is a girl, no more than a few years older than me. Her strawberry blonde hair falls in her face, and she has a birthmark above her chocolate eyes. She looks scared.

"Who are you? Where did you get the uniforms?" I ask, but already I can hear the aggression fading from my voice. These aren't Peacekeepers.

"We stole them," the woman says, her voice high and tremulous.

"From where?" Gale commands.

"From the factory," she squeaks back.

"You're from Eight," I answer, remembering the factory from the Tour. Gale's eyes shift from our prisoners to me.

"And the gun?" he directs. They are unarmed, underfed, and hurt. There is no way they can overpower Gale and me. I drop my arrow, and I feel Gale's stare burn into me. He thinks I'm being foolish.

"We took it from a dead Peacekeeper," the other woman adds.

"Who are you?" I repeat.

The older woman speaks. "I'm Bonnie. She's Twill."

"Why do you have that cracker? With the bird?" I ask, my voice softer.

"Do you not know?" Twill asks, her voice in measured excitement.

"I know there was an uprising in Eight," I answer with some snark. I don't like seeming stupid.

"It's so much more than that," Bonnie answers, and I see the fire in Gale's eyes spark. The women tell us about their journey. The loves ones they lost and left behind. How Twill twisted her ankle because her boots were too big. How they've been living off scavenged food and melted snow. They tell us about the uprising in Eight. The plot leading up to it, the rebellion, their eventual defeat.

"It took them days, though, to get the district back," Bonnie adds proudly. The fighters were able to form a resistance, beat back the Peacekeepers in their district. Take the factories, take the railroad. But then the axe fell. Foot soldiers were deployed, and when the new guard came through, the rebel strongholds were reduced to ash by hovercrafts. The new peacekeeping force was brutal, and Bonnie and Twill were forced to escape on foot.

Gale is fascinated, asking questions long after I've stopped talking, the gun finally falling to his side. The women explain everything they can, but it's obvious they are weary. I dig into my bag and pull out our supplies. I don't need any of it. I hand over meat, cheese, bread, extra gloves. I give them the layers of clothes I stripped off earlier, and even Gale offers his hat and scarf. The women weep in gratitude, hugging us and sniffling. Eventually Gale relinquishes the gun back to them.

"I understand why you are running, but what are you doing out here?" I ask. "There's nothing beyond Twelve."

The two stare at me wide-eyed. "We're headed to Thirteen," they whisper, as if keeping a secret from the winter birds perched in the trees.

"There is no Thirteen," Gale replies with disappointment. "It was bombed seventy-five years ago."

"That's what they want you to think," Twill says, covering her mouth with her hands.

"It's nothing but rubble," I remark. I can't believe these women are out her chasing a fantasy. Their naiveté will get them killed. "I've seen the footage on television. We all have." Certainly these women have witnessed the scene – ruins smoldering in the wake of chemical warfare.

"That's just it," Bonnie says. "They've been using the same footage for as long as anyone in District Eight can remember." My face bears my disbelief. "You know how they always show the Justice Building?"

"Yeah," I nod with skepticism.

"If you look very carefully, you'll see it. Up in the right hand corner," Twill chimes in.

"See what?" Gale asks.

"A mockingjay. Just a glimpse of it as it flies by. The same bird every time. The same flip of a wing," Bonnie states as if fact.

"You are going to District Thirteen based on that? Some stupid bird? What, you think there's some city there? People just strolling around on the streets? That the Capitol would be just fine with that? That they'd let them live?" I am rambling in my disbelief. Bonnie and Twill are going to get themselves killed over a useless fantasy. Gale, however, seems to be replaying the footage in his mind, searching for a bird. He is so ready to fight, he so wants to believe… My eyes narrow on him. "I've never known you to be so gullible," I state. He ignores me.

"We think they moved underground when the surface was decimated. And we think the Capitol leaves them alone because, before the Dark Days, District Thirteen's principal industry was nuclear development," Twill replies.

"But they were graphite miners," I state, knowing what I learned in school, but then I hesitate, because that is information the Capitol fed us. My heart starts to race too quickly. What if they are right? Could it be true? Could there be somewhere that I could keep Prim safe, out of Snow's reach? But my blood quickly boils. "If they had weapons, if they have a nuclear arsenal, then why aren't they helping us? Why would they leave us like this?" I sputter. I knew we'd never survive a fight against the Capitol. Not after I saw the military bases in 2. But if we have a base of our own…

"We don't know," Bonnie whispers. "Right now, we're just operating on faith."

Gale has fallen for it, I can tell just by looking at him. I think they are all delusional. _District 13 does not exist because the Capitol would never let it exist._ They are probably just confused. Mockingjays aren't exactly uncommon, and very resilient. It wouldn't shock me at all to learn a whole colony of them had taken up residence in the remains of what was once the thirteenth district. Bonnie and Twill have no family and nowhere else to go. I can't bring myself to crush their hopes, but I'm certain they'll die alone in the woods.

I can't convince them to give up this pipedream. There's nowhere else they can go. Instead, I sit down, pull off my boots, and offer them my socks. I wish we had hunted on the way down, but we have no game. They beg for details on 12. I think they think it will be important information to deliver to 13.

"Nothing has really changed," I say sullenly.

"But it will. The miners are already talking – " Gale starts but I shoot him a dirty look. I told him to stop talking in the mines. It's not safe.

We finally head back, leaving the women with most of what we came with. Gale abandons the quiet, somber façade he's been parading since our fight and babbles endlessly about the two women, and 8, and the rebellion, and 13.

"We can't tell anyone what we heard," I say sharply.

"Catnip, the boys need to know. With what we've been planning…"

"Gale, stop," I cut him short. "There are people planning the rebellion, and you are not part of it. The most you are planning right now is a distraction; one that will probably get people killed and bring a world of hurt down on Twelve. I'm not saying you can't help, but I need to talk to Haymitch," I insist.

"But with what they just told us –" he starts again.

"What they told _me_ ," I interrupt coldly. "You think they would have said any of that if I wasn't with you? They wanted me to know. And I get to decide what to do with it." He's going to get himself killed. I worked so hard on the Tour to try and keep him alive, and he's throwing it all away because he's hot-headed.

"Well, it's my life and I get to decide what to do with that. And if I'm going to plan an uprising in Twelve, then you can't do anything about it," he spits back. My face burns.

"I can't lose you. Please don't do this," I beg. I've never begged him for anything. It's weak. We don't show weakness. But the idea of my nightmares about Gale coming to fruition – about him being blown to bits or drowning in ash – I can't handle it. I can't breathe. I'm practically yelling at him now. "I need you alive!"

"Why?" he says quietly, stepping toward me.

"Because I said so," I shoot back, like a parent scolding a petulant child.

"Catnip," he steps forward again, but I pull back.

"Stop," I whisper, putting my hand up.

"Why are we out here then? Away from everyone?" Gale asks softly, but still implying something. Expecting something from me.

"You know how I feel about you," I fumble, tripping over my words.

"No. No, I don't," he shoots back with obvious spite.

"I can't let you die," my is voice ringing desperate now, angry.

"Oh, so now you care?" Gale raises his voice, nearly yelling at me.

"Why is it so strange I want you alive? You want me alive, don't you?" I yell back.

"I want you, period," he states, his voice lowered but his tone still fiery.

"I know," I don't know what else to say to that.

"You know," he coughs, his tone injurious.

"Gale, I care about you," I say, reaching for his arm. He thrusts it back at me.

"Then why are you still pretending with him?" he shouts.

"Because I love him!" I scream back, and the words echo through the deep, empty woods. They die out, and then there's nothing but silence. I hear the ice melting and breaking off branches, crashing to the forest floor. I hear snow settling back into place. I can hear the two of us breathing. Gale's eyes train on mine, and we stare at each other. I can't read him. I've always been able to read him and I can't. My voice is quiet now, but strong. "You are my best friend. _Be_ my best friend. But I never owed you more than that," I say, turning away.

"And you owe him?" he asks my back. I stop, my feet frozen in the snow.

"No," I say pointedly. "I chose him."


	3. Chapter 3 - Town

I stomp out of the woods, still fuming. I'm mad at Gale. I'm mad at myself. I'm mad that I'm probably going to lose my best friend. I know I should have told him earlier. I know that. But he doesn't make it easy. I thought when I got back from the Tour we could fall back into how things were, but he doesn't want to move backwards, and ours paths forward diverge. I kick the snow.

I can tell Gale thinks I lied to him, and I guess I sort of did. At the very least I wasn't truthful. I was going to tell him, but I thought he wouldn't run away with us, and I needed to keep him alive. He's spiteful. He would have stayed behind. But after we decided to stay… I don't have an excuse for not telling him then, other than I didn't want to hurt him. And I'm still not totally comfortable with the idea of being with someone. I never wanted this. Saying it out loud to Gale makes it very _very_ real.

But it is real. Everything with Peeta is real.

I find my feet rushing to get home. When I finally push through the door, I find Peeta and Prim in the kitchen, examining a cake. Peeta looks up at me with a giant grin.

"Guess who got a perfect score on her math exam?" he asks. Prim is squirming with excitement as she tries to keep her mouth shut, but she can't.

"I did! I didn't get a single question wrong!" she squeals. "And Peeta made me a cake to celebrate, and he says we can frost it any color I want!"

"I'm so proud of you, Little Duck!" I beam, tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear.

"So what color do you want?" Peeta asks her, and she chews her lip.

"I want yellow," Prim finally chirps.

"Yellow, huh?" he says, looking through his box of supplies. "Hm, I don't have yellow."

"Oh, pink then," she states.

"No, you said yellow. I'll just go borrow some from the bakery. Can you wait twenty minutes?" he asks, and Prim gives a mischievous look. Twenty minutes is a long time to be alone with a cake. "Primrose Everdeen, don't you eat that cake," he warns. He better make it a fast twenty minutes.

"I'll go with you," I offer. Peeta shifts on his feet.

"I can go, it's fine," he replies, trying to sound nonchalant about it. I haven't been to the bakery. I haven't really met his family. I still bring his father squirrels, but despite being engaged to his son, I use the back door and duck away before his wife sees me. I'm not sure Peeta even knows I do that. He's kept me at an arm's length from his family, and I'm starting to wonder if he's embarrassed by me. If he's embarrassed to bring home a Seam girl.

I'm not exactly "performance ready" as Effie calls it. I am a mess. I'm covered in sweat from the hike. My hair is disheveled from where my hat used to be. I have no socks. I'm sure I smell.

"Okay. I guess I'll go change then," I say as if I don't care, and plod up the stairs. I throw the sweat-covered clothes in the hamper and yank on a warm sweater and slacks. I should shower, but I don't want to. Instead, I sit on my bed and stew over the day. I need to talk to Haymitch. I need to tell Peeta about Bonnie and Twill. Mostly, I need to close my eyes. I rest my head in my hands, but a knock on my door makes me jump. "Come in," I call out, and Peeta cracks open the door.

"Come with me," he says, lingering in my doorway.

"You're not supposed to be up here," I say, with a little more bite than I intended.

"Come with me," he repeats.

I'm in a mood. I'm mad at Gale, and myself, and now I'm mad at Peeta. I scowl in his direction, but it doesn't do any good. He gives me a look and I feel the anger starting to melt. I'm making something out of nothing. I'm taking out my frustration on the most convenient punching bag. "Okay," I relent softly, but now I'm suddenly very aware of every hair out of place, of my sticky skin. "I should really shower," I add.

"You look beautiful," Peeta chimes in.

"I don't smell beautiful," I retort, not entirely accepting the premise.

"You are terrible at taking compliments," he teases. I run my fingers through my hair quickly and knot it back in a braid. I realize the sweater I chose has a hole in it, so I quickly pull it over my head and open my drawer to find another. I feel him eyes all over me. I look back and Peeta is clutching the door frame, keeping himself in place, but he wants to rush in here. I tease him, taking my time. "You better hurry," he states, his voice soft and low.

"Oh?" I ask, torturing him.

"I don't trust your sister with that cake," he adds. I laugh and choose another sweater to throw over my head. We head down the stairs just as my mother enters the house. She hardly ever leaves, but I see her carrying a bag of medicines. She must have had something delivered on the train.

"Were you upstairs?" She eyes the both of us warily. I ignore her statement and push past her. This is my house. I'm trying to be nice. I'm trying to make her feel welcome and respected. I'm trying to rebuild a bridge here, but today is not the day to push me.

"Yes. We did all kinds of untrustworthy things, too," I spit at her. Peeta stands awkwardly behind me.

"Katniss," she starts, but I just shove my way by and push through the door. I think I hear her tell me to stay home, and then Peeta mumble "sorry" before slipping out behind me.

"You don't have to apologize for me," I say quickly as he catches up, my voice malicious.

"I was apologizing for me," he replies back, not taking the bait. I fume at him and quicken my pace, taking a few large strides so I'm ahead of him on the road.

"Katniss, hold up," Peeta calls out. I stop and kick a dirty chunk of ice out of the street while he jogs to meet me. Unlike the pristine white in the woods, the snow in town is all layered with a thin coat of black coal dust, making it just as ugly as everything else in 12. "Are you okay?" he asks, but then his head turns away from me, picking up some sound in the distance. "What was that?" he says under his breath, his tone tinged with concern.

I've been too in my own head. I haven't noticed the strange sounds coming from town. A whistling, a crack, the sounds of a crowd gasping. Is this why my mother didn't want me to go into the square?

"Come on," Peeta says, tugging my arm back toward home. He's put something together before I have, and he doesn't want me anywhere near it. I take off running toward the square. It's evident something is happening, but the crowd is too thick. Peeta thuds up behind me. He climbs up on a crate leaning on the side of the sweet shop to get his head over the crowd. He reaches to offer me a hand when his eyes widen.

"Get down!" he hisses. "Go! Get out of here!" He keeps his voice at a whisper, but it's sharp with insistence. Instead, I force my way up the crate. I need to see what he sees. He blocks my way. "Go home, Katniss. I'll be there in a minute!"

Whatever is happening, it's not good. I start to push my way through the crowd, trying to snake my way forward. When people see me, they block my way, trying to push me back. Their voices whisper in warning.

 _"Go home, girl."_

 _"You'll only make this worse."_

 _"What are you trying to do? Get him killed?"_

Hearing their words doesn't slow me, if anything it makes me surge forward harder. My heart begins to slam in my ears. I know that whatever is in the square is a gift from Snow. It's meant for me. I swallow hard.

Gale is tied to a wooden post, his wrists bound over his head. A turkey he must have shot after we separated is nailed to the post above his head. A law broken. A punishment. Gale's jacket is on the ground, soaking in the melting snow. His shirt in his tatters, hanging in strips at his waist. What was once his back is now a bloody slab of meat. He's unconscious, all his weight hanging from his restrained wrists.

A man stands in front of him that I don't recognize, but the uniform is unmistakable. The pristine white of his chest plate is now spattered with tiny sprays of blood droplets. This isn't the regular Peacekeeper uniform. It's the once designed for Head Peacekeeper, but Cray is nowhere to be seen. The man has cropped silver hair and a tall, muscular frame. My mind is still processing these pieces of information when I see his arm raise the whip.

"No!" I scream, and spring forward. I am not strong enough to take down this solid man, so instead I throw myself between him and the battered body of my best friend. I have nothing to shield me, and I take the full force of the lash against my face. The pain is blinding. I feel myself fall to the ground in a hard thud. The edges of my vision blur. My hand clasps the wound, blood gushing between my fingers. I might vomit on the square. Instead, though, I put my feet under me, along with my free hand, and push myself up. I stand and face the man, eyes burning in fury.

He stares back at me, his face hard, creases deep down the side of his cruel, vicious mouth. His eyes are black like coal, pupils engulfing his irises with vengeance. He lifts his arm again, target shifted to me. I am without weapon. I have nothing but my body, so I stand defiantly in front of Gale. This man may break me physically, but I'm not moving. The whip falls again and I raise my arm in defense. My jacket takes the brunt of it, but the sheer force slams my knees into the ground. I feel tears burn in my eyes, but I stand up and stare back at him. I drop the hand from my face and spit my blood on the ground. It mixes with the pool already formed around Gale's body. I glare at him. His arm rises over his head again. I hear Peeta screaming and pushing his way through the crowd, but another sound rings out.

"Hold it!" the voice barks above the clamor. Haymitch steps forward and nearly trips over a bloodied Peacekeeper lying on the ground. He reaches my side and I'm shaking my head fervently, telling him to get out of here. This is my fight. He steps forward and assesses my face. I stand bitterly, jaw locked, never dropping my eyes from our assailant. "Oh, excellent," Haymitch adds sarcastically, lifting my chin. "She has a photo shoot in the Capitol next week, and you've bloodied her up. What am I supposed to tell her stylist? We can't have her trying on wedding gowns with a face like this."

Our eyes remain locked, but I see a flicker of recognition in the Peacekeeper's eyes. He can't quite tell it's me. No make-up, bundled from the cold, face swollen and unrecognizable. He had no idea who he raised his whip to. But Haymitch. Haymitch has been on television for years. No one is mistaking him. And the talk of marriage, and photo shoots… He realizes he's just marred a Victor.

"She interfered with the punishment of a confessed criminal!" he bellows. Everything about this man is foreign. Where is he from? 11? 3? The Capitol?

"I don't care if she blew up the damned Justice Building. Look at her face! We can't cover that with make-up," Haymitch adds, watching the Peacekeeper's jaw slacken.

"That's not my problem," he barks back, but his tone has shifted to defensive. Haymitch has planted the seed of doubt.

"Well, it's about to be, when I make a call to the Capitol to find out who authorized you to mess up my Victor's pretty little face," Haymitch replies, his voice cool. He's making the man look foolish in front of everyone, and I can see his blood boiling under the surface of his thin skin.

"This man was caught poaching. What does it matter to her anyway?" the Peacekeeper roars, his voice never quieting, never offering any passivity.

"He's her cousin," Peeta says, stepping in front of me. "And she's my fiancée, so if you want to get to them, you'll have to go through me." He places himself resolutely in front of me and Gale. He plants his feet firmly, expecting at any moment the whip to come flying down.

Maybe we're it. Three people against the will of a tyrant. But we're possibly the only people that could make a stand like this. And so we do. A line formed in front of Gale, our faces defiant. This is temporary. There will be repercussions. The Peacekeeping force could riddle our bodies with lead if they so chose, but when I look at the backup squad, I see familiar faces. Old friends from the Hob. They've traded with me. We've laughed together over Sae's wild dog stew. I know their names, their voices, their stories. And they are certainly not enjoying this spectacle.

One of the Peacekeepers, a woman named Purnia who likes rabbit and field greens, steps forward. "I believe you've dispensed the standard number of lashes for a first offense. Unless the sentence is death, which is carried out by firing squad," Purnia says with feigned confidence. "Sir," she adds quickly, and steps back in line.

"Is that the standard protocol here?" the man demands, and the others nod in agreement. We all know this is a lie. The standard protocol on fresh turkey is a bidding war on drumsticks. The man turns back to us, his eyes inhuman, dark, brooding. "Get your cousin out of here. And if he manages to come to, tell him the next time he poaches on the President's land, I'll shoot him myself." He turns to the crowd, his voice amplifies in volume and cruelty. " _Clear the square!" he screams. "You are all under curfew! Anyone out after dark will be shot on sight!_ " The crowd disperses chaotically. He neatly coils the whip, sweeping Gale's blood from its length and onto the street in front of us. He gives me a menacing glare before turning his back.

"Gale," I breathe, and rush back to my friend. My fingers bumble uselessly with the knots, and Haymitch pulls a blade from his pocket and cuts him down. Gale collapses like a ragdoll onto the dirty snow. In the corner of my eye I see a few Peacekeepers collecting their fallen friend from the ground next to us. I see his red hair match the blood dripping down the side of his head. Darius. I catch Purnia's eye quickly and mouth "thank you." She gives a nearly imperceptible nod and they carry Darius away.

We use a board as a stretcher and load Gale facedown. The square is nearly empty, fear overtaking compassion. I can't blame anyone. A couple of miners have stayed behind, and they help us hoist Gale into the air.

"We need to bring him to your mother," Haymitch whispers, and I nod starkly.

Leevy, a girl from the Seam, approaches us, her eyes filled with a mix of fear and determination. "Can I help?" she asks.

"Go get Hazelle," I tell her quietly. "And don't let her bring the kids." Leevy nods and sprints away from us, her tiny dark head bobbing as she runs. I wonder if Leevy will get reaped. I wonder if she might bleed to death in an Arena. Or starve here. I wonder if she'll grow into a woman someday. I shake the thought from my head.

"Get some snow on that," Haymitch orders, pointing to my face. I grab a handful and watch as Peeta, Haymitch, Thom, and Bristel lug Gale up the hill, recounting the events of today. I kick myself. I shouldn't have left him alone in the woods. If we hadn't been fighting, we would have been going to the Hob together. I could have stopped this. Or we both would have gotten killed.

I tune back in to hear how Darius tried to stop the whole thing, and how the new Head Peacekeeper, Romulus Thread, smashed his head with a rock. I'm certain that won't be the only punishment. I gulp down the bile rising in my throat.

We approach the house and I hear Prim call out. "I didn't eat any cake, I swear!" She runs out the door and takes in the scene. "Mom!" she calls before rushing ahead of us and clearing the kitchen table. The men lay Gale on the table, and my mother quickly assesses the scene and gets to work. Prim tries to look at my face, but I swat her away gently. "Help Gale," I whisper, and she turns back to my mother.

"New head," Haymitch tells her, but my mother is absorbed in her work. She carefully cleans and peels skin away from his back. Prim bobs in and out, changing supplies, applying pressure, cleaning ahead of my mother. The two of them work without words, and it reminds me of hunting with Gale. I watch them in awe, and try to reconcile this clear-headed, strong woman with the mother who retreated and left us to die. I feel cold on my face and Peeta places a cloth with green snow to my wound. He's treated it with some of the antiseptic my mother brewed. The relief is palpable, although the ache is still intense. As my adrenaline comes down, the pain throbs, and tears force their way into my eyes. I blink them away.

My mother glances over. "Did it cut your eye?" she asks, not looking up from Gale's mutilated flesh. I shake my head no. "Keep the snow on it," she directs.

"Can you save him?" I ask, my voice weak and small. I sound like a child. My mother doesn't answer, she just focuses on mixing the right tinctures and herbs and cleaning, continually cleaning.

"Don't worry," Haymitch says, his voice not his own. Almost soothing. "There were lots of whippings before Cray, and we always took them to your mom. She's got this."

I watch them pick and clean and pull pieces of flesh back together and I feel sick to my stomach. Peeta's jaw is set, hand weaved in mine, watching silently. Hazelle arrives as they are finishing, placing the final bandages on his back. She takes a stool by Gale's head, pulling his hand into hers and singing to him softly like she did when he was a boy.

When Gale begins to come to, the real agony begins. He moans quietly at first, then louder as he wakes more fully. He grunts and sobs into the table. My mother goes through her meager supply of painkillers, but none of those pills will touch this.

"Use the morphling," I order. She has a supply. A small amount. Maybe only a couple doses. I've never seen her resort to it. But I can feel the burning on my face. The herbs and remedies will help with swelling, infection, but it won't touch the suffering. He needs the morphling.

"Katniss, he'll be fine. We'll mix in some sleep syrup with the –" I don't let her get far.

"Give him the morphling!" I shriek, kicking my chair away from me. My mother's eyes meet Peeta's.

"Take her out of here," she directs, and I feel Peeta's hands on my back.

"Just give it to him! What's wrong with you? You just like to watch people suffer, is that it?" I scream as Peeta pulls me from the room. "You just want everyone to hurt as much as you do, right? Give him the medicine or I swear I'll never forgive you." I'm already in the hall, the door in sight. "You're a monster!" my voice rings through the house.

I'm dragged outside. I beat at Peeta's chest until my arms go weak with wear, and finally he's just holding me. I sob into him. It racks my body until I'm at his feet on the ground. He sits with me, and we rock on the steps. The cold seeps into my bones, but I don't care. He whispers to me, but I can't make out the words. I close my eyes and I see Gale's blood on the ground, mixed with soot and snow. Only this time it isn't a nightmare. This time Gale might die on my kitchen table.

"Katniss," Peeta says softly, pressing his mouth to my hair.

"Yeah?" I say, not moving.

"You kind of smell," he says. I fight it, but I can't help but smile.


	4. Chapter 4 - Wounds

Peeta and I stay on the steps for a while. I try to let the winter cool down my temper, but I can't seem to catch my breath. Peeta rubs my back through my sweater, but I shirk him off. It's too much with the pain in my face. Instead, I pull his hand into my lap and lean my head on his shoulder. Hazelle opens the front door and I stand up to meet her.

"I'm so sorry," I mumble out, and she wraps me in her arms. For just a moment, it feels like I have a real mother.

"This isn't on you, Katniss," she whispers. She doesn't know everything that's going on, but she's perceptive enough to know it's more than it appears. "I have to go home. Posy has a fever and I can't leave the kids alone." She doesn't want to leave. She stares at my front door, a mother ripped between two obligations. "Watch him for me?" I nod silently. She squeezes my hand and heads down the road to the Seam.

"It's getting dark," I whisper.

"Yeah, curfew will start soon," Peeta replies.

He should go home. I don't want him out after dark. I don't want to find him cold and dead on the lawn between our houses. Haymitch joins us silently. The shadows loom on the trees. Night comes early in the winter. Snow begins spitting from the sky. Soon it's dusk, and I see a silhouette making a hurried path up to the house. My injured eye has swollen entirely shut, and I can't quite make out who or what it is. My heart thuds heavy in my chest.

"They can't have him," I say desperately, standing to my feet.

"Might not be coming for him. Might be coming for you," Haymitch states.

"Or you," I quip.

"Not my house," Haymitch retorts.

"It's Madge," Peeta says, his voice hushed in the evening air.

She approaches us panting, a bag clutched in her hand and her hair speckled with snowflakes. She thrusts the bag forward into my hands. "This is for your friend. It's my mom's. She gets it from the Capitol. She said it's okay for him to have it." Her sentences are short as she tries to catch her breath.

"Madge," I answer, gratitude apparent in my voice.

"I need to get home. I don't have much time before they start patrolling the streets. If he wakes up, tell Gale I said hi," Madge finishes, before turning on a heel and running back down the path. I open the bag. Inside is a box with six small bottles of morphling.

"Oh!" I exclaim, and rush inside. Gale is lying face down on the table, clutching the sides, his knuckles white. His body is sheened in sweat and he clenches his teeth tight. I push one of the bottles into my mother's hands. "Give it to him. Now."

"Where did you get this?" she asks, her voice uncertain.

"Give it to him," I demand.

My mother removes a syringe from the medicine cabinet and draws the liquid before injecting it into his shoulder. Gale's face relaxes, and his eyes flutter closed. A sigh escapes his lips, and I feel myself exhale with him.

"I didn't even know Madge knew Gale," Peeta says.

"We used to sell her strawberries," I mumble, my voice distant, my eyes trained on Gale's face.

"She must have quite a taste for them," Haymitch comments, and the statement leaves me stomach unsettled.

"She's my friend" is all I can manage.

My mother sends Peeta and Haymitch home before dark settles in. Peeta stares at me from the door. I smile weakly and he ducks outside. She doesn't bother with me.

"If he makes it through the night, we should be in the clear. We need to keep him clean, ward off infection." My mother speaks to me the way she speaks to the family of an injured miner. The way she tells a loved one she is optimistic, but we aren't out of the woods. She and Prim head up to bed, and I'm alone in the kitchen with Gale. I pull up the stool Hazelle took residence in earlier, and I drop my forehead to the table. I don't sleep, but I stay like this for hours, my neck cramping and my face throbbing. I pull my chin up and take Gale in. Does everyone look younger when they sleep? He reminds me of a boy I knew not long ago, one that was easy to be around. One that made me feel like myself. One that had so much in common with me I felt like we were two parts of the same puzzle - frightened, fatherless, trying to care for our families. It hasn't been easy lately, but I know why he was my best friend. _Is_. Is my best friend.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, and I lean forward and kiss his cheek.

He stirs and I immediately regret waking him. "Hey Catnip," he manages through the haze of the morphling.

"Hey," I manage back.

"Did this change your mind? Do you want to run again?" Gale whispers. His voice catches in his throat. "Is this goodbye?"

"No. We're gonna stay here with you and cause all kinds of trouble," I answer. He smiles.

"Me too," he mumbles, before the drugs pull him back under. It was selfish of me to try to cut him out before. Why? Because I wanted to keep him safe? I know what Gale wants. He's a born rebel. He wants to fight.

I wake up hours later, my head on the table. As I sit up, the full effects of yesterday's lashing burns my face. I don't mean to, but a whimper escapes my lips as I gingerly run my fingers over my cheek and eye. Swollen. Very swollen. And hot. Sitting at the far end of the kitchen is Peeta, asleep in a chair he pulled up next to the stove. A fresh basket of muffins sits on the counter next to him. His skin is pale. Bags hang under his eyes. I suspect he didn't sleep last night. I wonder if he feels my eyes on him, because he stirs and stretches himself awake. He catches me staring, and his expression shifts quickly.

"Oh, Katniss," he reacts, pain evident on his face. I think he's mad about Gale, jealous that he found me this morning sleeping so close to his face, my fingers interlaced with his. But I quickly realize Peeta is taking in the damage to my cheek. He mixes some snow with the antiseptic and presses it to my face. "Why don't you go upstairs and get some sleep? I can sit with Gale."

"I told Hazelle I'd…" I try to put up a fight, but I'm too exhausted. Peeta replaces me at the stool and I climb the stairs, my feet heavy. I imagine I won't have much luck sleeping, but I'm almost immediately unconscious. The dreams are vivid and terrifying. I see Clove, pinning me down, lapping at the wound on my cheek like a cat with a hot spot. Something isn't right. Her tongue is dry and coarse, and I realize it's not the strong and powerful girl I met in the Games, it's her dead corpse. Her hair is dried with blood and falling out of her head, her skin sagging as it rots away from her face. I wake up gasping for air, heaving, screaming. The house is used to it by now.

Outside my window, the light snow from yesterday has turned into a full on blizzard. Sheets of snow pelt sideways, covering the sides of buildings and trees with inches of snow while leaving the other side bare, like a senile person wandering with their hospital robe gaping open in the back. Snow drifts reach above my head. This storm is a windfall. I welcome its ferocity, its deep, drifting banks. This may be enough to keep the Peacekeepers at bay, at least for a couple days while we sort things out. We are all in Victor's Village – me, Peeta, Haymitch, Gale. We can hatch a plan.

I take a minute to orient myself to what this new life means. Gale, in on the revolution. Plotting. Conspiring. Accepting that at any moment I could arrested, whisked away and hidden. Tortured. Mutilated. Executed. I can handle that. But my mind shifts to my sister. If we fight back, won't the Capitol retaliate against my family? My stiff, resolute demeanor dissolves. I force myself to remember, though. They've already punished Prim. Killing our father. Leaving her to starve to death. Her name reaped into the Games. Isn't she the reason to fight?

I hear a quiet rap on my door. When I turn the knob, Peeta slips inside. "I got kicked out of the kitchen. Your mom and sister are with Gale. How's your face?" he asks, his hands lifting to my skin. I flinch, and his brow knits. "You're really swollen, I'm worried it might be infected," he says quietly. He stares at his hands, like he's avoiding looking at me. "I'm so sorry. I tried to get to you, but after you broke through the crowd held me back. I must have had forty hands on my body, and I couldn't get to you," his voice is heavy.

"I got myself in that mess. You couldn't have known I was going to jump in front of a whip," I offer soothingly, pushing a piece of his hair out of his face.

"That's exactly what I expected you to do the second I saw it was Gale on the whipping post," he says with a smile. It's not a happy smile, it's one of those smiles that show up when you're frustrated or angry with yourself and you can't process what you are feeling. I stand across from him awkwardly, unsure how to comfort an emotion he can't understand. But I'm here. I focus on being here. He stares at me. "Does this change things?"

"No. We are still staying. We need to talk to Haymitch, though," I impart.

"Does it change things for us?" he asks. Maybe he wasn't jealous seeing Gale and I together this morning, but he's certainly nervous about what it means.

"No, nothing is changing," I whisper, and I feel him let out a breath. He steps nearer to me, not wanting to take advantage of the trust my mother put in him allowing him up here, but not being able to keep our humming bodies parted any longer. He's overly aware of my face, and presses his mouth to my neck on the opposite side of my injury. He kisses my skin gently, softly, until my knees feel weak and he has to wrap a strong arm around my waist to keep me with him. He walks me slowly backwards until my back presses against the wall. He runs his mouth up my jawline to my ear, and tugs on my earlobe gently with his teeth. I moan softly and he blows a shhhh on my skin, which makes it tingle against his hot breath.

"I want to kiss you," he whispers, knowing full well he can't. My face is too swollen. I knot my fingers in his shirt, pulling him closer. "This is a familiar feeling," he jokes quietly. "Wanting you and not being able to have you." Suddenly his eyes flicker. Like he has an idea. My stomach flips and I swallow hard. My heart hammers and makes my body feels alive, reactive. He brings his mouth to my ear again. "I want to kiss you," he repeats. He drags his mouth down my jaw, over my neck. I feel his hands slip under the seam of my shirt, skin rough on my stomach. I wonder if he can feel it fluttering and flipping under his fingertips. His hands start fumbling with the button on my pants, and I steal a sharp intake of breath.

"What are you doing?" I ask, my voice urgent and thrilled.

"Kissing you," he breathes into me, and my face flushes. He slides his hands over my waist and drops my pants to the floor. I feel exposed and exhilarated and absolutely terrified. I'm not totally putting two and two together until Peeta drops to his knees.

"Oh!" I utter, and his eyes flit up to mine, gazing at me through his long, golden eyelashes. _Can I?_ he's asking, and I think my heart is trying to break my ribs. It's not just racing, it's beating itself against the inside of my body, throwing itself wildly against the wall of my chest. We haven't been intimate since the train, and we've never gotten this far. Nowhere near this far. I nod my head fervently, and he presses his mouth to me.

This is different, and I almost immediately feel my legs want to give out. I have to lock my knees to keep myself from slipping down the wall. A moan escapes my mouth, and Peeta stands immediately. "You have to be quiet," he whispers, but the grin on his face tells me he loved it. I nod as best I can, my chest panting, and he drops back down again. He wants to make me forget. He wants to take away the hurt, the pain, the fear. He wants to claim me. He wants to show me he loves me. He wants me to feel good.

Peeta moves his lips, his tongue, his mouth over me. I bite my lip hard, but the feeling is unparalleled. Everything is tingling and swollen and sensitive and my body is utterly on fire. I feel my core shaking, trembling under him. He puts his hands on my hips and forces me firmly against the wall as his mouth becomes more direct in its movements. I can feel my hips bucking against his hands, but he pushes harder, and it makes my entire frame quiver. It feels good, so impossibly good, and that's when his tongue slides over that spot that normally makes me bury my face in his shoulder. I feel my legs go out. I cling to the wall, my fingers slippery with sweat, as he repeats to motion over and over, picking up momentum and adding more pressure. I can't. I can't. I can't. I don't know how to be silent through this, and as waves of pleasure pulsate through me, I whimper as my body slides down the wall into a mess of limbs and fever on the floor.

Peeta pulls my body in with his, and we lay guiltily on the carpet. We are both covered in sweat and smell like sex. He lays his head on my chest, and I weave my fingers through his hair. "This is why my mother doesn't let you up here," I tease, and I see an enormous grin spread across his lips. It takes a bit for my body to still. We clean up in my bathroom. When I see my face in the mirror, the mood shifts from dirty and fun to stark and sterile. I hadn't seen it yet. One eye is swollen closed entirely, and my skin is stretched over the swelling like the udder of a neglected cow. "Are you sure you're ready to do this?" I ask. Fight. Die for a cause. Peeta nods unambiguously. "Me too," I state, jaw locked.

Peeta leaves ahead of me and I take a shower. Downstairs, my mother mixes some herbs and applies them to my face. I can feel the heat escaping my skin, the swelling ease. I rest my head on the table next to Gale, wound up, and we look like quite a pair. My arm that took the second beating is swollen and bruised all the way around, but my mother doesn't believe it's broken. I didn't think it was. My knees are black from being slammed to the ground, but the minor bruises feel insignificant compared to the journey Gale has ahead of him.

Haymitch stumbles in the front door, covered in sweat and snow. It must have taken him a while to cross the yard to us. "I need the kids," he beckons to my mother. She gives him an untrusting eye, and he adds, "My roof is sagging. I need to get the snow off it." She dismisses us, and Peeta and I follow Haymitch into the chaos. Outside, the elements whip around us. The wind is brutal and fierce, the air icy and wet. You don't stay outside in a blizzard. We cross behind his house, which offers some protection from the elements.

"We need to talk," Haymitch says, and I couldn't agree more.


	5. Chapter 5 - Erupt

The wind makes me feel brittle, like my body has become one of those magnificent ice sculptures we saw in the Capitol, but the strike of a stray stone might cause me to shatter. It is unrelenting. What a fool I was, thinking I could run away to the woods with my whole family and no shelter in the middle of the winter. A human couldn't survive in this. I wonder where Bonnie and Twill are.

"The rebellion wants Gale," Haymitch shouts. He tries to raise his voice over the squall, but I can barely hear him. "The footage of the whipping was broadcast live all over Panem. The Capitol was trying to make an example out of him, but instead he looked defiant. And being your cousin and all…"

"It's okay!" I yell back. "He wants in. He told me as much!" I hear my words being carried away with a strong gust, eaten and lost in the blizzard. Haymitch nods, so he got at least some of it. "When you say the rebellion, do you mean District 13?" I ask.

Haymitch's face drops. Peeta looks at me like I've grown a second head. So much needs to be said between us, but the storm has taken an ugly turn and I lose my footing. We can't talk inside, but we can't stay out here much longer. Already our bodies are shaking; losing a battle against nature. "We need to go in!" Haymitch bellows, and we fight our way back to my porch. We slam our feet into the mat in the front hall, and snow clumps and falls away from our bodies like a snake shedding a second skin. It melts into puddles around us, and Prim brings down a towel to sop up the water.

I head to the kitchen to check on Gale. My mother is discussing moving him. He will be immobile for days. He can't go back to Hazelle's in the storm, but the kitchen table is causing problems of its own. His hips dig into the wood and they throb when he shifts his weight. While his back burns, his feet are frozen. His ribs ache as he fights to breathe. We need to get him to a bed upstairs.

"I can do it, I can walk," Gale insists feebly, never opening his eyes. My mother gave him a second dose of morphling this morning, but only after we heard him sucking air through his teeth like a vacuum hose with a hole in it.

"We could try to carry him," I offer, knowing it's probably beyond us. Haymitch could possibly take his feet, but the stairs will be challenging. We can't risk dropping him.

"I can carry him alone," Peeta states. My mother and sister look at him with disbelief. Even though he's from the Seam, Gale is taller and thicker than Peeta. He outweighs him by at least fifty pounds, and his body will be dead weight.

"He can," I add. "Peeta is really strong. It's why his training score was so good." Peeta gives me a look.

"Says the girl that got an eleven," he chimes in. "I'm not saying it will be pretty, but I can do it."

They clear Prim's bed and it's not long before we're ready to go. With a lot of effort, Gale sits up. This is going to hurt.

"Ready?" Peeta asks, his eyes trained on Gale. He nods, and Peeta leans forward and presses his shoulder into Gale's stomach. Pushing his feet into the ground, he thrusts up and Gale lifts from the table and over his shoulder. Gale's scream is guttural, primal even. Gale's disoriented, but Peeta swiftly carries him up the stairs and deposits him on the bed. Gale's face is red, his body dripping in sweat from the agony of the trip, but the bed is a major upgrade and he lets himself sink into it.

"If my bed was this soft I'd never leave," Gale manages, winking at Prim. Soon, though, he's passed out again. Everyone stands awkwardly around as he is settled in, and finally file out one by one. I change the bandages on his back the way my mother showed me. Gale winces when pieces of cotton cling stubbornly to the raw, sticky lacerations.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry," I offer, but I know there's nothing I can do. When I finally finish, I lean my mouth to his ear. "Haymitch knows something. About 13."

Gale looks at me, acknowledging what he heard without words. I don't know what, but the look on his face was unmistakable. Something's not right.

Gale is at my house for about a week before he's well enough to go home. Scabs have formed over most his wounds. They are swollen and oozing clear fluid, but my mother assures me this is normal. It's the body keeping itself clean. On some wounds, tough, white fibrous skin begins to form the beginnings of scar tissue. It will take weeks for the muscle underneath to repair. He can stand and walk short distances. Peeta and I are practically attached to his hips. It's odd seeing the boys talk, touch, even laugh once or twice. When he goes home the house feels strangely empty.

In a little more than a month, Gale is back in the mines. I told him to wait, but once he found out the rebellion wanted him, it renewed his desire to get something going in 12. He scares me though, and even Haymitch tries to tell him to slow it down. "They want you to follow direction," Haymitch insists, but Gale ignores him. Everything is out in the open between us. We told Haymitch and Peeta about Bonnie and Twill, the uprising in 8, and the theories about District 13. Haymitch is dismissive on the latter, but he doesn't deny it. He won't lie to me. My brain starts to churn.

One day Gale comes rushing to my house, pounding on the door. He stands on my steps covered in soot, and for a moment I see my father. I remember throwing myself recklessly into his arms, knowing he'd catch me and swing me so my feet never touched the ground. I bury the memory, because it makes my chest sting.

"You're supposed to be at work," I insist, but Gale grabs my hand and pulls me outside. Something is up.

"I saw it," he whispers excitedly.

"Saw what?" I ask, wrapping my arms around my body.

"The bird's wing. On the District 13 footage. It was playing in the lunchroom today. I saw it! They were telling the truth!" Gale rattles on, his eyes bright.

"It doesn't mean District 13 exists. Maybe they don't want to waste money carting reporters out to the same pile of rubble over and over again," I answer back.

"Oh yeah, because the Capitol is known for its frugality," Gale retorts.

"Gale, just… slow down. This isn't going to happen overnight. We need to do it right," I push, but he rolls his eyes before rushing back to the mines, his break almost over. We need some action or Gale is going to boil over. Based on the cryptic information Haymitch has communicated, I think something is in the works for the Quarter Quell. It's the consummate opportunity. I just hope Gale doesn't blow up something before then.

I walk across the snow to Peeta's. Since Thread's reign, the Hob was burned to the ground. Peeta has nowhere to make his illegal trades, so he's taken to delivering bread to the needy on the pretext of a legitimate sale. I worry he's going to get caught, but I'm not sure there's a punishment for generosity. I'm cooped indoors, and the cabin fever is driving me mad. I'm ready to crawl up the walls.

Peeta's just come home from his morning deliveries. His boots sit wet in front of his fireplace and I hear the shower running upstairs. I curl up on Peeta's couch and wrap a blanket around my body. I'm constantly exhausted. I don't sleep. My voice gives out, I scream, I cry. My eyes grow heavy with the crackle of the fire and the smell of Peeta's house enveloping me. I drift off, but it's not long before Peeta crawls onto the couch next to me. His skin is still damp from the shower. His curls drip slightly, and his clothes smell like detergent. Peeta tugs at my shirt until he exposes my stomach, and lifts his own shirt until our skin connects. "I'm so tired," he whispers into my hair. "The Ayers baby is sick."

Barrett Ayers died in the fire at the Hob, leaving behind a young wife and child. They were a poor Seam family already, but his wife doesn't have anyone else. "The baby had a fever and had been screaming for days. I just took him for a few hours so Abilene could close her eyes…" his voice trails off.

"I should tell my mother," I whisper.

"I offered, but she said she didn't want any kindness for nothing," Peeta says in a low tone, his voice humming in his throat. He burrows his face in my neck.

"Maybe she wouldn't mind stacking the firewood while my mom looked at the baby," I state. I'll go see her later. I feel his head nod, and I move my fingers to his hair. Our legs tangle in a comfortable, familiar way, and his breath grows slow. "Gale is scaring me." My confession is barely more than a breath.

"Me too," Peeta whispers, and that's when we feel the house shake.


	6. Chapter 6 - Boom

"What was that?" Peeta jolts up. _Gale_. We're both instantly on our feet. Peeta laces his soaked boots back on and we run out the door. It's immediately apparent the explosion came from the mines. No. No no no no no. Every nightmare I've had about losing Gale comes barreling potently into reality. Gale suffocating in ash. Fire burning his lungs. His body crushed under rocks or blown to a million pieces so Hazelle has nothing left to bury. I try to keep my head on straight as we barrel toward the chaos.

Men and women are exiting the mine from the lift, coughing and sputtering into sweaty bandanas. Spouses and children run to their loved ones, the immediacy of their nightmare passed. My eyes scan the crowd frantically. I see Hazelle and the kids huddled together near a large tree, but Gale is nowhere in sight. Hours pass. Peacekeepers suspend the curfew as the rescue mission pushes into evening. Everyone from the mine is accounted for save two people - Gale and Bristel.

Recovery teams are formed. "Send me down!" I yell, and the men turn around and look at me warily. "I'm small. If there's a cave-in I'll be able to squeeze through where you can't." They are nodding their heads slowly, but are still unconvinced bringing a teenage girl into a mine is a great idea.

"I'll come too," Peeta adds, and they concede and load on our gear. I suddenly feel like Peeta and I are back in 2. My heart slams into my chest and swallow hard. I can't retreat into my head right now. Peeta leans into me, pretending to adjust my helmet. "You're not here. You're in the woods with Gale. Smell the pine?" he whispers. I nod.

Peeta and I join the rest of the recovery crew and are lowered slowly into the earth. I watch as the light grows smaller and smaller until ultimately it disappears and we are submerged into darkness. The explosion knocked out the power in the mine, so we are relying on our headlamps only. Thom leads us down a few narrow passageways. Peeta keeps his hand locked in mine, keeping me present.

"They're down here," Thom gestures, leading us to the left. The air becomes thick with dust and it feels gritty in my eyes. I put on the goggles that were attached to my vest. The path comes to a sudden stop, rocks and heavy boulders blocking the way. "They're on the other side," Thom says.

"How do you know they are alive?" Peeta asks, a question also bouncing in my mind, but one I'm not sure I want answered.

"They were talking for a few minutes," Thom replies. "So we don't know they are still alive, but they were. There's a chance." The men on the crew begin discussing the safest way to remove the debris walled between us and them. A game plan is made and work begins. I help lug heavy rocks and earn a few looks of approval from the guys. I'm not sure if they expected me to sit back, but I'm not good at being idle. After some effort, we've opened a tiny clearing.

"I can fit through that," I state with confidence. Thom tells me that once I'm through, I need to assess Gale and Bristel for injuries. After the Games and living with my mother, I can handle triage. The next part will be trickier. I'll need to talk the crew through the formation of the fallen debris as visible from the other side. We need to make a space big enough to safely get the rest of the crew through. We can't move anything hastily or we risk collapsing the whole corridor on all of us. I nod. My eyes drift to Peeta. He doesn't love the idea of sending me into an unstable part of the mine, but he knows I'm going in.

I crawl up the pile and peer through the opening. I can see Gale and Bristel on the ground, both unconscious. As I begin to pull my body through the hole, I realize something is wrong. My face burns and I pull back out.

"What's wrong?" Thom asks.

"They are both out, but I don't see any injuries. I'm thinking a gas leak," I answer. The men nod in agreement.

"Well this changes things," one says.

"Do we have gas masks?" I ask, but he shakes his head. "I can still go in," I insist. "I can hold my breath a really long time." I think back to summers diving deep into the lake, swimming down until my ears rang and my lungs screamed. Pushing my limits over and over.

"How do we get them out?" someone asks.

I hadn't gotten this far. I can drag the men a few feet, maybe up the debris, but I certainly can't pull them through the hole.

Peeta's head is cool. It's part of being a Victor. "Katniss climbs through and surveys the debris. We remove as much as needed to pull Gale and Bristel through, but no more. Anything extra will cause more gas to leak into this part of the mine. Once she's in, Katniss can tie a rope around them one at a time, and we pull them out. Katniss will need to come in and out a few times, so we will need to be ready for her with supplies," Peeta directs the team. He does not hesitate in his confidence in me, and I can tell it's infectious. The men nod in agreement. They start talking and organizing supplies. Peeta pulls my bandana from my neck and soaks it with water. He ties it around my face, covering my nose and mouth.

He lifts the bandana until he exposes my mouth, and kisses my lips softly. "Be careful," he whispers.

I climb through the hole. Whatever gas is in here has no odor or color, but it burns my eyes. I assess the debris, crawl back up, and shout directions. A rope is handed to me, and with another gulp of air I head back in. I tie the rope around Gale. I know this is going to hurt him desperately. I'm guessing his scarred skin will feather away from his body. I try to help as they drag him along the floor, but blood soaks his shirt. He's finally through his the opening. I follow him out and gasp for air. I've only cheated for a breath a couple times inside, but I'm already feeling sick.

"Is he breathing?" I gag.

Thom nods. "Get him out of here!" he orders, and a couple miners carry Gale away.

"Are you okay?" Peeta asks me, placing a hand on my hip. One of the miners spies the gesture, but looks away quickly.

"I'm okay. Let's get Bristel and get out of here," I state. The men agree and I climb back up through the hole. I cross the small space to Bristel, and my heart sinks. His lower legs are crushed underneath a piece of iron frame from the mine. I don't know how I didn't see this before. I… I think we'll have to cut his legs off. I feel hot. If I have to do this, I will, but I don't even think we even have the tools. I run through what I'll need to do in my head. Cut through the skin and muscle, pull back the tissue until I can isolate the bone. Saw through. I swallow and crawl back to the hole. I shout down my findings.

"Do we have anything? A blade? A saw? Shears?" I call down. The men turn white. "Pull it together!" I order.

"Katniss, can I lift the frame?" Peeta asks.

"I don't think so," I state, looking back over my shoulder. It's not small by any means, at least a few hundred pounds, probably more. He starts climbing anyway.

"This isn't a good idea," I beg, blocking the entrance with my body.

"I'll hold my breath like you," he says.

"You're going to be exerting yourself, it's different," I insist.

"You are going to be sawing a man's legs off, do you think that isn't going to take some effort? You think you can do that in one breath?" Peeta retorts. I know I'm being a hypocrite, but I don't want him in here. He won't back down though.

"Fine!" I yield. "But if you can't lift it right away, you leave." He nods his head. Peeta takes a water-soaked rag from one of the miners and holds it over his face before pulling himself through the opening. Bristel is only twenty or so yards into the tunnel, and Peeta covers the distance in seconds. He takes a second to appraise the beam.

"Lift or leave!" I yell before crawling down the debris toward him. I see the miners trying to peek through the entrance, eyes on Peeta. I reach his side.

"When I lift, you have to pull him hard. I can't keep this up for long," he says, his voice uncertain.

"Peeta – "

"Hands under his shoulders. Get ready to pull," he orders, and plants himself in position. I tie the rope around Bristel's waist and take my place at his head. Peeta drops to a squat and takes a deep breath before shoving his feet into the ground. He screams in exertion. The noise echoes off the walls of the mine, reverberating and ringing in my ears. The beam begins to lift. Peeta's arms and legs shake violently. "Pull!" he cries out, and I heave my body with all my might. Bristel slides out from under the beam, and Peeta collapses only seconds later.

"Pull pull pull!" I shout to the miners, and they drag Bristel to safety. "Come on," I say, pushing myself under Peeta's arm and dragging him up. We clamber through the hole and tumble down the far side. Peeta crawls a few feet and vomits. I'm not sure if it's the gas or the lift, but he's shaking and panting heavily. I rub his back, but I'm dizzy too. We lay on our backs on the floor of the mine while they take care of Bristel. The team agrees they need to bring Bristel up and come back for us. We just nod.

Some time passes. I stare at the mine ceiling for a while. My lungs are burning. I turn my face to Peeta.

"Hey," I choke out.

"Hey," he mouths, unable to make any noise. I knot my fingers in his before I pass out.

I'm told Gale and Bristel were brought out first. Saw horses with planks were set up as makeshift hospital beds, and my mother and sister went to work immediately. Luckily, Gale's back was more bruised than anything. A few open gashes were sewn. Haymitch says Bristel had crush injuries to both legs, but the Everdeen women were able to save them. Losing both your legs in 12 means losing your livelihood. If you can't walk, you can't work. His wife sobbed when my mother told her he'd pull through with two feet. Gale and Bristel woke up within an hour, to the arms of their families.

Haymitch says the image of Peeta and me surfacing was almost martyrly. Dawn cracked the sky as the lift ascended. What was a raucous of noise went immediately soundless. The crowd anxiously surrounding the entrance parted like a line of ants adjusting course. We both were unconscious, and people immediately put their arms under us, carrying us to the outdoor infirmary. There wasn't anything my mother could do – we just needed fresh air and time. People sat on the ground surrounding us, leaving enough of a periphery for my mother to work, but pressed as close to us as possible. That's what I woke up to.

Propping myself up on my elbows, I see the citizens of District 12 rise to their feet in near unison. Silent. Respectful. Peeta sputters only a few moments later. One by one they step away. _Thank you._

I wake up in my bed hours later. Peeta is over in Prim's room. Poor Prim has become a bit transient in the house, sleeping with me or my mother depending on the night. There's a cold bowl of broth on my nightstand, but I eat a few spoonfuls. The house feels quiet. I sneak out of bed and find it empty. They must be visiting Gale or Bristel. I pull a blanket off my bed and creep downstairs. Haymitch is sitting in my kitchen, drinking coffee. When he sees me, he gestures to step on the porch.

"What happened? Was it Gale?" I ask.

"Well, sort of. According to Gale, he and Bristel have been searching the mines for live explosives ever since you told them the Capitol rigged it to blow. They finally found the cache and were working on diffusing them when one went off," Haymitch says.

"Was it triggered?" I ask, panic in my voice.

"Don't think so. Gale thinks they probably didn't diffuse it properly. It was the last one they tried, since it was a more complicated explosive than the others. It was wired directly into the power grid, so when it went out that wall came down and power went out in the whole mine," Haymitch answers.

I don't know whether to be frustrated or proud. I'm both, until Haymitch tells me Gale's been stockpiling the disarmed explosives in a shed at the edge of the Seam.

"How reckless can he be?" I bellow.

"The two houses by it are abandoned, it's not near people," Haymitch tries to soften the blow.

"Children play out there!" I retort back.

"Based on what he said, I think he sees it as a necessary risk," Haymitch says. I fume and he throws his hands in the air. "I'm not saying I agree, sweetheart."

"Once Gale is better, I'm going to kill him," I mumble.

"The good news is Snow can't take down the mines remotely anymore," Haymitch says. "And the whole image was food for the rebellion. You and Peeta rescuing the miners. They crowd parting. The whole bit."

"Snow let that play on television?" I ask incredulously. I doubt he'd let that happen.

"No, but word is spreading through the districts. Almost better this way. By the time rumors are done, I bet you'll have carried Gale out on your back," Haymitch states.

"Oh he'll love that," I state sarcastically, with a smile creeping on my lips. "Now what?"

"Let the story get around. Rest. And don't do anymore stupid stuff, like climbing down into an unstable mine and running through noxious gas like some hero. You know you can die, right?" he adds.

"I'm keenly aware," I respond.

I head back upstairs, but instead of walking to my room I peek in at Peeta. I slip inside and close the door quietly behind me. Hours ago we were lazily entangled on his couch. I crawl in next to him and curl my body into his. Peeta stirs and slips a hand up my shirt, resting it on my ribs.

"I'm so nauseated," he whines.

"Me too," I whisper. I make him eat some cold broth, and we both fall back in bed. He pulls the covers over our heads, blocking out the rest of the world, and for a second it's finally just us, alone.

"I know we said we'd fight, but I don't want to lose you, Katniss," Peeta confesses.

I don't say anything back. He wraps his arms tight around me and breathes me in, as if I might be temporary. As if there might be a morning where I'm not here. Like no matter what we do, I'm going to slip through his fingers.


	7. Chapter 7 - Bed

Over the next few days the reality of the rebellion sinks in, and I get the foolish notion in my head that I need to go to the lake. I want to see my dad. I want the advice of another revolutionary. I want to say goodbye. Early in the morning I throw on my hunting jacket and sneak out. I spend hours at the lake thinking. I remember my father, what he believed in. I remember what his arms felt like, swinging me in the air. I remember him singing. I remember him teaching me to shoot. Aim, breathe, posture. I remember who he was. I remember what he stood for. And finally, I say goodbye.

I head back before dark starts to fall. When I approach the fence, my breath catches in my throat. The fence hums. It buzzes. It's alive. On the few occasions Gale and I have been trapped on the wrong side of a live fence, we'd just camp out on the tree line and wait a few hours, but I know that won't work this time. They were waiting for me. This fence isn't coming off and dark is falling. Curfew. Adrenaline pumps through my veins and my feet fumble back to the woods. I am sure Thread is patrolling the fence. Am I to be whipped? Shot? Hanged? Left stranded in the winter woods?

I need to get out. Going under the fence is out of the question. I need to get over.

I assess the obstacle, skirting up and down at least a mile in either direction before I finally locate a tree with a bough hanging over the fence. It's at least twenty-five feet up. There's a pile of snow on the other side, but what was once fluffy is now hardened with melting and refreezing. I don't have a choice. I don't see any Peacekeepers. Now is the moment. I gulp before scaling the tree. I shimmy down the branch, which gets narrower and more supple as I go over the top of the fence. I wrap my legs around the bough and swing myself down so I'm hanging. This is going to hurt. This is _really_ going to hurt. With a deep breath, I let go.

I try to keep my body limber, but I instinctually brace against the fall. My body crashes into the icy ground, and pain shoots through me. I lie there for a minute and assess the damage. I hurt my tailbone. I know that. But the real pain is in my left heel. I test out pressure. Broken. Definitely broken. I've dealt with worse. I push myself to my feet and stifle a moan. I need to get moving. Dark is falling and I'm at least half a mile off course. I limp back, trying to come up with an alibi. I go through town, stopping at different shops buying myself excuses. White medical bandages for my mother. Candy for my sister. Yeast for Peeta.

When I finally arrive home, the porch light is on. My foot is throbbing and it can hardly bear weight. I can't tell my mother where I was. I decide to tell her I was fixing shingles on the roof of our Seam home when I slipped. It sounds believable enough, but when I enter the home I'm not greeted by my mother, but rather two Peacekeepers standing in my kitchen.

"There she is now!" my mother exclaims from behind them, her voice phony. She's a terrible liar.

I can't take off my boots, but I pull off my jacket and shake the snow from my hair. "Can I help you?" I ask, keeping my tone neutral. Peeta and Haymitch sit in the corner of the kitchen, playing a game of chess as if they don't have anything more to worry about. As if being interrogated by Peacekeepers in your kitchen doesn't even warrant them to look up from their game. I take a step forward and keep my face disinterested while excruciating pain shoots up my leg. It imperceptible to everyone but Peeta, who I see tense slightly.

"Head Peacekeeper Thread sent us with a message for you," the woman Peacekeeper barks with some irritation.

"They've been waiting for hours," my mother adds. Of course they have. They didn't expect me to come home.

"Oh? What's that?" I ask a little too innocently.

"Where have you been?" the male Peacekeeper commands, ignoring whatever message they were supposed to give. Neither of them thought I'd show up. Their job was to confirm I was stranded or electrocuted or eaten by a pack of wild dogs.

"Where haven't I been might be an easier question," I state, rolling my eyes. I toss my bag to Prim, who stands stiffly against a wall.

"Well, where haven't you been?" Haymitch asks with some irritation. "Dinner's cold."

"Well, I haven't been getting Prim's goat knocked up, that's for sure." Prim and I banter back and forth about where the goat man is located in town. She's surprisingly convincing. Haymitch adds some details. Even Peeta chimes in, calling me stubborn, and I pour the bag of candy on the counter and forbid them all from having any.

The Peacekeepers are at a loss. They aren't going to catch me trespassing, poaching, or breaking curfew. With a huff, they deliver their message. "Thread wants you to know the fence will now be electrocuted around the clock," he indicts with his tone.

"It wasn't already?" I ask doe-eyed. Haymitch gives me a look. Don't push it, sweetheart.

"He thought you might like to pass the information on to your cousin," the woman adds coldly.

"Thank you. I'm sure we'll all sleep more soundly knowing that security breach has finally been cared for," I reply. Haymitch wants to strangle me. They finally leave, and Peeta is immediately at my side.

"What is it?" he asks.

"My foot," I wince as I hobble to a chair. He delicately removes my shoe, but nothing can hide the hideous injury. It's already swollen and discolored.

"This is broken, what did you do?" my mother asks. I deliver my lie, which the girls eat up while Haymitch and Peeta stare at me knowingly. My mother does what little she can, and I'm sentenced to bedrest. Peeta and Haymitch are sent home. Mom insists I take some sleep syrup. I learned my lesson on the train. All sleep medicines do is trap me in a terrifying reality I can't pull myself out of. I vehemently refuse.

I surprisingly fall asleep on my own after a cup of honey-drenched tea from my mother. I drift, but everything immediately warps into a twisted reality I can't escape. The Peacekeepers tear my sister from my arms and force her to walk barefoot in the snow. Her toes turn black and fall off. They stuff her mouth full of sand and it pours out of her tear ducts. Prim's hands are bound and she's locked in a tiny box. I scream and scream. I can't wake up. I can't wake up. Prim shrieks when the box begins to sink into the floor, and she begins vomiting sand over and over until it buries her alive. I scream and dig. I try to force myself awake. I open my eyes but nothing is sinking in. My mother and sister are trying to calm me as I thrash and claw out. My teeth turn to dust.

"Go get him," I hear my mother order, and Prim is gone, except that she's still here with me, drowning in a wooden box. The sand is saturated with coagulated red blood, and I really begin to lose it, throwing it away and never reaching her.

My realities twist together. I hear more footsteps. "We can't get her to wake up," Prim says, panic in her voice.

"Did you give her something?" Peeta asks as he watches me.

"I mixed some sleep syrup in with her tea," my mother confesses, and Peeta shoots her a look before climbing into my bed. My hands pummel at the intruder. I need to clean up the sand. I need to collect the blood or she'll bleed out.

"Katniss," he says softly. Hands in my hair. His knees on either side of my hips. Pressure. The bed. I feel the bed. "Come back to me, I'm right here," he whispers. Sand. Sand and sheets. "Come back to me." I gasp and open my eyes. "There you are," Peeta breathes, and I sob into his chest. The sand slips through my fingers and the nightmare is gone. "Shhh…" Peeta pulls my body close to his and rocks us slowly. His hands slide up my shirt and rub my back. I shake. We stay this way for a while.

"Thank you, Peeta. I think we've got it from here," my mother states, but he just keeps swaying.

"Did she know you gave her sleep syrup?" he asks, his tone not changing from the soothing soft lull.

"No," my mother replies.

"She can't have stuff like that. She gets stuck," Peeta says, scratching my back slowly with his fingers. My breathing starts to slow. My eyes clear. His gaze is on my face. He doesn't want to leave. "Could I stay here?" he asks my mother quietly. She's silent. Peeta and my mother have been close since the Tour. He doesn't want to burn a bridge, but I'm still shaking under his fingertips. "I promised her I'd stay," he adds softly, but it just hangs in air. He tries to find compassion in her eyes, but I can't read what emotion is there. She's never been an authoritarian. I don't know why she's pushing, but I can't do this right now. I focus on my breathing. I shake the feeling of sand from my hair. I feel like I'm on display.

"Just until she falls asleep," my mother concedes, and finally we're left alone, the door to the hallway creaking closed behind her.

"Breathe deep for me," Peeta whispers, and I inhale a shaky but full breath. The sleep syrup is heavy in my eyes, and I start to pick at my fingernails, trying to dig the sand out.

"Don't let me fall back asleep," I beg, my voice scratchy. We sit up together. I've finally calmed down, separated the dream from reality, but now I feel my head bob as it's threatened with slumber. Normally when I'm trying not to sleep I wander, but I'm in too much pain to leave bed. Staring at the ceiling won't work with sleep syrup coursing through my veins. Peeta is feeling defeated. He can't fight chemistry. Instead, he crawls behind me and sits with his back on my headboard. He pulls his body into mine, pressing his chest into my back, and talks about nothing in particular. He asks me really detailed questions about hunting. He keeps his body in tune with mine, and when he feels me slipping, he repositions or asks a question or squeezes my hands. It's like this for hours. It's nearly morning by the time the sleep syrup wears off, and at this point I feel him dozing behind me. I shift and he wakes.

"You okay?" he asks. I lean forward and rest my head on his propped knee. I nod. We made it through the night. "Katniss," his voice gets soft. Serious. "Next time you run off, you have to tell me. I spent most of yesterday freaking out. I had no idea where you were." I didn't really think about that before I went, and my cheeks burn in shame.

"I didn't think I'd be gone so long. I was trapped for a while," I whisper.

"With what's going on… I thought Peacekeepers snatched you in the middle of the night," his voice breaks, but he clears his throat and keeps it together. _With what's going on…_ he's speaking in code. With the revolution in the works, with targets on our backs, with the Capitol wanting us silenced.

"I'm sorry," I offer uselessly.

"It's okay, just please don't do that again. What would you have thought if you woke up in the morning and I wasn't in my house?" he asks. I imagine walking over and finding it empty. I imagine he doesn't show up for his morning deliveries. I imagine no one in town has seen him. My heart starts to throb in my chest. I would have thought he was gone. I try, but I'm always going to be this stupid, selfish girl. Peeta's life would be better with a girl from Town, someone who wants babies and wouldn't be embarrassing to bring home to his family. I'm never going to be good enough for him. He sees me brooding and kisses my neck softly.

"What was that for?" I ask sullenly.

"You were thinking about that too hard. Just say 'I'm sorry, Peeta, you are the best boyfriend and the most ruggedly handsome man I've ever seen.'" I can't help but grin.

"I'm sorry," I say through a laugh.

"I'm sorry and…?" he teases, squeezing his legs around me tight.

"I'm not saying the rest of that," I snicker. I want to wrestle him away, but everything hurts. Instead I just press my back against his chest, run a hand up his neck and into his hair, lean my head back and kiss him. I feel his entire body responding beneath me. His fingers knot in the sheets around my waist, and for a second all the pain melts away. His hands slide over my body, and it's strangely more intimate because of the way he's pressed behind me. I bite my lip as he slips his hands beneath the sheets and ghosts them over my skin. I hum as he travels up my inner thigh, over my stomach, my core burning. I push my hips into his hands, thrusting slightly under his touch, and I hear his breath go ragged. I run my tongue over my lips and I see him watching my mouth, his hands drifting closer.

"I should go home," he breathes, his voice shaking. I nod and force my body to still. I'm panting even though nothing really happened yet. Just the idea of it has my legs trembling. Peeta pulls himself from my bed, kisses me quietly, and ducks out of my room. I drop my head back into the pillow and try to catch my breath.

Over the following weeks, Peeta is a constant in my room. He sleeps in a chair beside my bed, a compromise worked out between him and my mother. We work on the plant book. I describe what different herbs and flora look like, and he sketches them out on scrap paper until they are just right. When he has my approval, he adds them to the book and with ink and watercolor. It's a family book. Only Everdeens have written in these pages. Being asked to add to it is like asking him to join my family. Be a part of me. The significance is not lost on him.

Peeta and Prim talk a lot when they think I'm sleeping. She chatters incessantly about the wedding – flowers, dresses, food, venues. I'm glad Peeta has someone to talk to about it, because I'm utterly uninterested in our fake Capitol ceremony. I'll just wear what Cinna tells me to wear and go where Effie tells me to go.

For the first couple weeks Peeta eats his dinner upstairs with me, but after a while I'm well enough to be carried downstairs to sit at the table. He alternates cooking with my mother and always cleans up. He really only ever leaves to do his morning baking and deliveries.

One night my mother comes to check on me. Peeta's asleep in the chair next to the bed.

"I really like him, you know," she says to me quietly as she eyes my foot. She tests my mobility, stretching my foot forward and back, taking note of if and when I wince. "I just don't want you to get hurt, Katniss. I saw you in the Arena. You nearly got yourself killed for him," she whispers.

"There are no more Arenas, Mom," I reply, but she looks at my knowingly. She knows something is brewing under her nose.

"I don't know that I could handle losing you," she confesses, but instead of feeling sympathy, I just feel angry with her.

"Try," I say coldly, and pull my foot from her hand. I don't know that I'm going to survive the rebellion. She needs to buck up.

"I don't want you to go through what I did when I lost your father," she rises, gesturing toward Peeta. His head is on his elbow, his eyes closed, his breath steady. "I watch you two. I don't think this engagement is fake, at least not to him. But nothing in this world is permanent, Katniss," she says, her eyes sweeping over the boy in the chair. "Just because he wants to stay with you doesn't mean he'll be able to." She's not talking about her silly house rules. She means Snow can take him away from me. The rebellion can take him away from me. An accident can take him away from me. "Be careful with your heart," she warns, and leaves the room.

I stare at Peeta for hours. _Stay with me. Stay with me._


	8. Chapter 8 - Rage

When I'm finally mobile again, I find myself without a reason to avoid Gale. We've seen each other only once since the incident in the mine. He said thank you. I wanted to scream about his stockpile of explosives, but instead I just nodded. I don't want to see him, or anyone really. The word around town is I have the flu, so most folks are steering clear.

I can't go to the woods, there is no Hob, Prim is back in school. I'm not sure what to do with myself. I clean the house incessantly. I scrub the floors, rearrange the cabinets. I build shelving in the basement and start canning food. Peeta offers to teach me how to bake, but I burn everything. I can cook meat and sauté greens, but I don't have the finesse required for baking. I bring leftovers to Haymitch. He gives me limited information on the rebellion. They have plans for Peeta and me, but they aren't ready yet. I want to be involved in the planning. I want to know who these people are. I'm not good at following orders. I feel like I'm blindly throwing them my allegiance, but I trust Haymitch.

Gale shows up for dinner one night with a bowl of roasted potatoes. He sits with us. Everyone is awkward and quiet, but cordial. Gale stares at Peeta, a foreign presence in what was once a familiar Everdeen dinner audience. Peeta either doesn't notice, or pretends not to. At the end of the evening, Gale lingers in the front hallway. I think he's waiting for me, but I notice Peeta grab his coat off the hook and the two of them step outside. I watch them from the front window. I expect punches to fly, but they just talk for a long time. The sky gets dark, and Gale gestures over his shoulder toward home. They shake hands. They both approach the front door, and Gale leans inside. "Thanks Mrs. Everdeen!" he shouts toward the kitchen. He holds the door open, expecting Peeta to follow him back outside. I see his face shift when he realizes Peeta isn't going home yet. He shakes his head quickly. "Night, Catnip," he tells me before ducking out.

I sneak over to Peeta's at night. He gets mad that I'm out past curfew, but the second I'm under the covers with him he shuts up. We talk all night. We kiss and we touch and we learn about each other. Unlike that day in my bedroom, things move slowly between us, but every new inch of skin is exciting. I'm all hormones and passion, and I find that I'm the one taking the next step every time. The night I slide my hand into his shorts he clenches his fists in my hair. He shakes at the slightest movement. I feel like I'm in control, and I love it. Maybe everything else about our lives is spiraling on an unmovable path, but here in his room, I can make my name get lost in his mouth. I steal back to my house before dawn, usually after Peeta's sticky and asleep, but hours before my mother rises.

One night I'm wrapped in his arms sleeping when his phone rings. Peeta rushes out of bed and I check the clock on his nightstand - three-thirty. He comes bounding back into his room, grinning widely.

"It was my dad! They need me at the bakery," he rambles excitedly as he throws on pants and a shirt. "I guess they got a huge order from Mayor Undersee! Dad said they are swamped and need an extra pair of hands." I don't understand his excitement. Didn't they reject him? His mother said as much, and the rest of the Mellarks stayed silent. "Dad says he just finished the frosting so if I hurry I can probably do the piping," he beams. "Have you seen my shoes?" I point to the corner by the closet. "He wanted to call earlier but it was still too dark out."

I get up too. Looks like I'm being kicked out. I smile and try to be happy for him. Peeta kisses me sloppily on the cheek before he bounces down the stairs and out the front door. I cross the lawn to my house and crawl into bed. I don't see Peeta the rest of the day. He doesn't come to dinner. I assume he's exhausted from a long day's work at the bakery, so that night I force myself to stay in bed. I want to head over but I know I'm being selfish. I'm sure Peeta wants to sleep.

I wait as long as I can, but by early morning I can't stand it anymore. I leave a note for my mother and traverse the lawn to Peeta's. I find him asleep on his couch. I cross the living room and crawl onto the tiny sliver of free space next to him on the sofa. Peeta winces and pulls back.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I whisper.

"Hey," he smiles sleepily. "I was hoping you'd come over."

"You slept in," I whisper. "It's almost breakfast time." I missed him. I pull myself up on top of his body and my mouth finds his ear. I nibble softly and squeeze with my legs when Peeta cries out. I jolt back. "What did I do? I'm sorry!" I blather. He sits up gingerly.

"It's nothing. You're perfect," he says, and he presses his mouth to mine. We move together. I trace my tongue along his bottom lip and pull myself into his lap. My hands drop and I start to tug at the hem of his shirt when Peeta's hands drop defensively to his sides.

"What?" I ask.

"I'm just really tired," he replies, avoiding my eyes.

"You're lying to me," I state, pulling back. "We aren't supposed to lie to each other." His face burns.

"Katniss, I don't want to talk about this," he pleads.

"Lift up your shirt," I demand.

"Katniss…"

"Lift up your shirt!" He responds with silence. "Did she hurt you?" I ask. My fingers return to his hem and Peeta drops his hands. I lift the edge of his shirt and expose a ghastly bruise over his ribs. Long. Straight. Like a rolling pin. I press my fingers to it gently and he winces and sucks in air through his teeth. It almost feels grainy under his skin. She shattered his rib. My jaw sets.

"Katniss, no –"

I'm on my feet and out the door. The path to the bakery is worn, and I feel myself start to run. Blood is pounding in my ears. I have never felt this before. Rage. I am going to hurt someone.

I throw open the door to the bakery and it slams against the wall. The customer at the counter takes one look at me and presses her body against the wall before sliding out the front door. "Where is she?" I roar. Mr. Mellark stands behind the counter, mouth ajar. Bannock is at one of the ovens. Mrs. Mellark pushes her way to the front of the store. I hear the door open and close behind me and I know Peeta has caught up.

"You like hurting people, huh? You like targeting men who are too decent to hit you back?" I get in her face. I'm small, but she's only got a couple inches on me.

"You don't know what you're talking about," she spits back, and I shove her forward into the cake counter. A glass pedestal falls from the display and shatters on the floor.

"Well unlucky for you I'm not a decent person," I get in her face.

"Katniss –" Peeta tries to interject himself, but my eyes don't leave the vile woman in front of me.

"He's my son. It's none of your business," she says defiantly, but I can tell she's starting to tremble. Good.

"Before the Games, you told Peeta I was a fighter." I lower my voice. It's menacing. Venomous. Threatening. I take a step forward. "Maybe Peeta is too kind to hit you back, but I am not an accidental Victor. If you even so much as look at him funny, I will hurt you. I will break your hands. I will crush your bones until your fingers are held in shape by skin and nothing else. Try to hold a rolling pin then." I pick the rolling pin up off the counter and hurl it across the bakery. It crashes to the floor and the sound echoes across the silent room. "Do you understand me?" She nods her head vehemently up and down. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?" I yell.

"Yes! Yes! I understand you!" she wails as she drops to her feet. I look across the room and Bannock is shaking in place, staring at me. I catch my reflection in the glass of the cake display. I look like a monster. I look like her. I peer back at Peeta, but he's just watching the rolling pin as it slows to a stop at the base of the counter.

"Peeta," I say softly. He stares at the pin. "Peeta," I repeat.

"I need to go home," he says, and walks ahead of me out the door. I watch his back until he reaches his front door and slips inside.

That night I call Effie and ask her to send Peeta the bone regrowth serum. She doesn't ask questions. The package arrives on the train the following day.

When Mr. Mellark knocks on my door, I don't totally know what to say. We stare at each other across the breezeway of my home.

"I'm sorry," he intimates quietly. "That conversation should have happened years ago. In private. It should have been me."

"I don't think Peeta's going to forgive me," I state. The words taste bitter in my mouth. "I turned his home into something violent."

"It was already something violent," Mr. Mellark replies. "She'll never touch him again."

"Did she hit anyone else? Will she, now that he's off limits?" I ask.

"No, she has a special contempt for Peeta that she doesn't share with the other boys," he says. "He's always been good. It makes her feel inferior."

"I know the feeling," I say involuntarily. I have no interest in empathizing with that woman and it makes me feel sick. My eyes sting with tears and I fight it back, but Mr. Mellark steps forward and wraps his arms around me. I don't accept affection. People don't touch me. I stiffen, but I can't stifle my tears and I finally give in. "I want him to come home to me," I sob.

"He will," Mr. Mellark whispers, rubbing circles into my back in a way that's so Peeta that I almost melt.

That night Peeta sneaks into my room. When I feel him next to me in bed, I immediately start crying and he wraps his body around mine. "Shhh," he breathes into my hair, but I only get more upset. "Shhh, Kat, your mom's going to catch us."

"I'm so sorry," I blabber out. I cry softly until I'm out of breath. Peeta runs his hands through my hair. He scratches my back. He's a furnace. I start to breathe. "You're mine, right?" I whisper.

"Yeah," he says back, his tone soft and hushed.

Hours go by. My mother is going to catch us, but I've stopped caring. Neither of us have slept in days, and we need each other. I apologize for what I did, but I don't apologize for what I said. I think in a way I robbed Peeta of something though. That one day, he was going to stand up to her on his own. That piece of healing, of closure, was robbed from him. He doesn't say it outright, but I know him well enough to know what he's feeling. I apologize for taking that away from him by saying the words. By kissing his cheek. By weaving my hand in his.

By making promises that scare me to death.


	9. Chapter 9 - Healing

Peeta and I come down from my room for breakfast. We don't even bother hiding the fact he stayed over last night. We're not going to lie about it. My mom eyes us both but doesn't say a word. Peeta has the bottle of bone regrowth serum in his pocket. After his last experience, he didn't dare take it alone. It's been days now, though, and I'm worried it's too late. He fidgets with it, and finally sets it on the counter in front of my mom.

"Where did you get this?" she asks, taking the bottle.

"I, um, I was hoping you could help me with it," he says quietly.

"Why would you need this?" my mom presses. I look at him, and he sighs reluctantly before lifting his shirt. The bruise has turned greenish purple. I still gasp under my breath, even though I know what to expect. It's truly horrific looking. My mother's face turns stern. "How did this happen?" Peeta silently stares at the wall. She doesn't push. "Okay, let me see," she says, palpating the wound gently with her fingers. "Oh Peeta," she breathes with a sadness in her tone that I don't expect.

"Is it too late to use the serum?" I ask with some quiet desperation.

"No, it should be fine. Although I'll be honest, I've never used it myself. I've only read about it in books," she says. "The next twelve hours are going to be rough. We should set up somewhere. Prim's room?" she asks.

"Can we go to my house?" Peeta asks. "I know it's probably easier for you here, but I kind of want to be home when…" His words drop off and my mother looks at him curiously. "We've done this before," Peeta states. "I know what's coming."

"Okay, let me get Prim ready for school and we'll head over," she states. My mother wakes Prim up and fixes her oatmeal at the kitchen counter. I pack her lunch. Normally I'd walk Prim to school, but I know Peeta is anxious so I make up an excuse. Before long she's out the door and we are headed across the lawn. The snow has melted entirely, but the ground is muddy and soft. We all abandon our shoes at Peeta's door.

"Where do we want to do this?" she asks.

"Last time it took a couple hours before I was really in pain," Peeta says.

"We want you to be as still as possible, even before the pain starts," my mother replies. We head upstairs to Peeta's bedroom. Evidence of my time here is immediately apparent. A small stack of my clothing is folded on the chair next to Peeta's bed. A couple of my hair ties rest on his nightstand. My favorite coffee mug from our house sits on top of his dresser, tea bag still inside, water over-steeped and cold. Everything of Peeta's in this room is neat as a pin. It's only my things that stick out. He quickly tidies up and sits on the edge of his bed.

"So…" he starts, but takes it nowhere. I can tell a question is stuck in his throat.

"It's okay," I whisper. "Just ask."

"Last time we did this, I had a lot of morphling in my system. I'm kind of worried about what this is going to be like sober," he rambles.

"I can't sugarcoat this, Peeta. It's going to be bad," my mother states. At least she's honest.

"Any chance we don't have to do this?" he follows up.

"I wish I could say no, but your rib isn't just fractured. It looks like the bone has shattered, which is frankly unusual. What was this from?" she asks.

"A rolling pin," I state. "It was a heavy stone. Granite, maybe."

"Still. Is this the same rib you broke before?" she follows up.

"One of them," Peeta replies. My mother swallows hard. She wants to ask, but doesn't. I try to keep my mother in a state of blissful naiveté to the direness of our situation, but I've been failing more and more.

"We can't just put a cast on a rib like we would an arm or leg. And given the tiny pieces, you'd most likely need surgery, which I can't do. Any tiny fragment of bone could traverse your torso into your lungs or heart. If I were to see a miner with this type of injury, I'd say they were a walking time bomb. It's just a matter of time. Honestly, Peeta, the serum is your best bet. It will regrow the bone and calcify the broken fragments to it," she explains.

I cross to Peeta's dresser and pull out a lighter shirt and some shorts. I toss them on the bed. "Last time you sweat through everything," I say solemnly, and he nods before pulling his shirt over his head. He changes clothes and I toss his long pants and shirt in the hamper. "Okay, let's just get this over with," he says cheerlessly, before gulping down the bitter liquid.

I bring another chair up from the dining room table and place it on the other side of the bed. My mom excuses herself to make some food and start some preparations in the kitchen. Peeta looks up at me from the bed.

"Hey," he whispers.

"Hey," I whisper back.

I hear the front door slam and some voices in the kitchen. Feet pound up the stairs. "Peet!" a voice calls out, before the door to the room opens. "Peet!" Rye Mellark exclaims before plopping on the bed beside his brother. "I've been trying to come see you for days! Your door has been locked. Come on, I need details. I can't believe I missed it!" he rambles, then gives me a grin. "You. Are. My. Hero."

Rye Mellark looks a lot like Peeta. Slightly taller. His blonde hair is more dirty looking than Peeta's, his eyes a little lighter. They have the same smile – they got it from their dad. Rye's nose is narrow like his mother's, but other than those small differences they could be twins practically. Peeta told me they are less than a year apart.

"Tell me everything. Did she cry? Bannock said she cried. I've never even seen mom break a sweat, let alone cry!" Rye's words are a mile a minute. He turns his head to me. "Did you really threaten to break her hands? That must have been so awesome."

Peeta and I are totally silent. I don't know what to make of this. I can't tell if Peeta wants him to stay or go. If he wants him to know what's about to happen.

"Rye, look," Peeta starts to talk, but he abruptly winces in pain. He lets out a shaky breath and his eyes dart to me. "I must not have felt the first couple hours last time because of the morphling," he concludes, and I know he's right. Rye looks confused, his smile lost from his lips. Peeta's face grimaces again, and he knots his hands in the sheets. I think back to the other night, when I had his hands knotted in these sheets for an entirely different reason, but now seeing the two images together it feels almost perverted. If the pain is already this bad, I'm not sure how we are going to handle what is inevitably coming.

"What is happening?" Rye asks, standing suddenly.

"Rye, you should probably go," I state, pushing Peeta's hair out of his eyes. Peeta's eyes catch mine. I've seen him in pain, but there is a fear there that is foreign. New.

"Can I help?" he stammers, not sure what to do.

"Come see him tomorrow, okay?" I insist. But he doesn't leave. He takes the extra chair I brought up for my mother.

"Let's do this," he says.

The day drags on. _This is temporary, this is temporary_ I remind myself as Peeta closes his eyes so hard water streams down his cheeks. My mother brings teas and tinctures. She cleans his chest and back, changes the pillowcases as he drenches one after the other. I hold his hand and let him squeeze my fingers until it feels like they might break. Eventually I crawl in bed beside him and wrap my arms around his body. He won't eat or drink anything, which concerns my mother. I coax some water into his mouth. Rye tells him stories. Haymitch insists on being here, but camps out on the couch downstairs. I'd say it's not offering much, but he doesn't have to be here and he is. Haymitch takes care of the caretakers, bringing us water and sliced apples. He knows Peeta doesn't want another witness, but he can't stay away.

When we realize we are out of valerian root my mom sends Haymitch to our house. Not long after he's gone, a knock on the front door makes us all jump. He must have let the door lock behind him. My mother ducks downstairs and I quickly realize it's not Haymitch. I creep from Peeta's room and crawl to the top of the stairs to watch.

Mrs. Mellark is standing in the doorway, my mother blocking her entry with her entire body. "Can I help you with something, Evelyn?" my mom states, her voice dark.

"What are you doing at my son's house?" she snarls, clearly threatened by my mother's unexpected appearance at the door. "Never mind, I'm looking for Rye. His teachers called, apparently he's not in class."

"I haven't seen him," my mother lies in a way that is unconvincing, but not bad. Almost like she wants Mrs. Mellark to know she has not one, but two of her sons. The two stare at each other, vitriol boiling between them. Mrs. Mellark's eyes drop, and she notices Rye's mud-caked shoes sitting next to the door.

"You have some audacity –" Mrs. Mellark starts, and my mother just laughs. This is bizarre. I've never seen my mother strong. Defiant. Defensive. But in this moment, it is obvious she has the upperhand and Mrs. Mellark is fuming.

Peeta cries out in pain and the sobs echoes from his room. Mrs. Mellark's eyes look quickly beyond my mother. "Your handiwork, I assume," my mom says coldly, almost like a sick compliment twisted to cause damage.

"That can't possibly be from…" Mrs. Mellark begins, but her voice trails off. Saying any more would be admitting she caused the injury.

"Rye!" Mrs. Mellark calls out past my mother. I look back to the bedroom, and I see Rye next to Peeta's bed, staring at me. I put my finger to my mouth and silently tell him to be quiet.

"If I see Rye, I'll be sure to send him home," my mother says with feigned pleasantry. "Also, as far as Peeta is concerned. Seeing as he'll be my son-in-law in a few short months, I'll be taking over from here."

"Taking over what?" Mrs. Mellark sneers.

"We no longer have any use for you in this household," my mother says dismissively, gesturing for the woman to go. Mrs. Mellark steps forward. _Oh, hit my mom. I dare you. I just dare you,_ I think in my head. But my mother sets her jaw and stares her down. Mrs. Mellark shrivels away because ultimately, she's a coward. "Please do tell your husband I said hello," my mother smiles sweetly, before closing the door with a slam.

She turns away from the door and her composure melts away. She shakes her hands, lets out a breath, and paces in a small circle in front of the door. "Mom," I say as I approach her, and a nervous smile trembles on her lips.

"I can't believe I just did that!" she exclaims, the smile solidifying into a grin that makes her eyes sparkle with nervous energy.

"Did you mean that?" I ask. Is Peeta hers too?

"Of course I did. Peeta's been part of our family for months," she answers. "Now, let's go see how our boy is doing." I don't know what caused her change of heart, but I instantly wrap my arms around her. She lets out an "oh!" as I squeeze her hard, but her arms rise and wrap themselves around my waist, holding me. We stand this way for a couple minutes. It's been so long since I've let my mother be my mother, and I don't want the moment to pass. She smells the same way she always has, like lavender tea, and her frame feels the same, although different since I was much smaller the last time she held me. "I've never been a perfect mother," she confesses, "but I would never hurt you."

"I know," I say quietly.

After a while, we head up the stairs. We're going on nearly eight hours. Prim will be home from school soon. We'll bring her over to help. It's a family affair. Haymitch comes back with the medicinal herbs, which he hands to my mother before sitting in the corner of Peeta's room. Rye makes us sandwiches, and we all camp out around Peeta's bed. He had a particularly bad bout about twenty minutes ago, but he passed out and has been sleeping ever since. I hope he doesn't come to, but I know it's only a matter of time. My mother checks his ribs, and she nods encouragingly. Prim comes, and she uses some techniques she read about pressure points to try to alleviate some of Peeta's pain. She complains that we didn't tell her until after she was out of school. As we drag into night, things seem to be coming to an end. Peeta is sleeping, finally, and he hasn't winced or moaned in about an hour. My mother checks the clock.

"That should be it," she says, and we all breathe out a sigh of relief. "Katniss, Rye, why don't you go clean Peeta up in the bathroom while Prim and I change his bedding and get some fresh linens?"

I lean over Peeta and whisper. "Hey there." He stirs a little, and then opens his groggy eyes to look at me. "All done," I say, and a grateful but weak smile spreads across his face. "I know you probably don't want to move, but we need to clean you up, okay?" He nods faintly. Rye and I lift him from the bed and walk him to the bathroom. We prop him on the edge of the tub.

"Let's swing his legs inside and then we can just let the water run down the drain," I offer, and he agrees. Rye pulls Peeta's shirt over his head, revealing the unattractive bruise. It will be weeks before that fades. I untie Peeta's shorts and pull them down. Peeta hasn't had his prosthetic on all day, but his legs have been under the sheets and I get the feeling this is the first time Rye has seen his brother's body since the Games. He stares at the stump where Peeta's leg used to be. I give him a stern look and he shakes his head to clear it. I run the water and we use a couple washcloths to clean his body. Peeta isn't strong enough to stand, but he can hold himself in a seated position. We dry his body with a towel, get some fresh clothes, and help him back into bed.

It's after dark, and no one is comfortable leaving after curfew. My mother and Prim take what would be my mother's room if this were my house. Haymitch claims the other. Rye grabs a couple blankets from the closet and takes the couch. I slip back into Peeta's room. I shower in his bathroom before crawling in beside him.

"You smell like guy soap," Peeta says, sniffing my hair.

"I think I'll leave a bottle of shampoo in your shower for next time," I whisper, and he sits up slightly. "Welcome to the family," I add.

He smiles before drifting off again.


	10. Chapter 10 - Card

Peeta and I stop sneaking around. We shift between his house and mine. We spend a lot of time with my mom and sister. I walk Peeta home after dinner one night, and the second the door closes behind us we're a tangle of mouths and limbs and pulling and breath. He carries me to the couch, unable to wait long enough to get me upstairs. He's tugging my shirt away from my shoulder, kissing my skin sloppily, when his hand slides down to my waist. With a quick intake of breath, my heart pounds as Peeta begins releasing the button on my pants. I bite my lip and I watch Peeta's eyes on me grow more eager. I move my hips in response, and he's sliding his hand over me when the phone rings abruptly. Peeta jerks up.

"Leave it," I beg, pulling him back into me.

"No one ever calls me unless it's important," he says.

"It's probably just Effie," I breathe into his ear, pulling his hips into mine. His eyes roll back into his head.

"Katniss," he pants, and drops himself back on top of my body. His hand wastes no time finding its way back to me. He pushes my underwear aside and gently glides his hand over me until I curl up under his fingertips. He smiles and begins to rub me slowly with a steady rhythm, our eyes locked on each other. He watches my every reaction and responds when I sigh or moan. It feels so intimate yet so exposing to have his eyes on my face while he's coaxing pleasure from me. My hands rush over him. I want him here with me. I run my hand over the length of him through his pants, and he groans before bucking forward. It sends a wave of excitement through me, and it makes his fingers almost feel electric as they move against me. I run my hand over him again, and everything I'm feeling intensifies. His body quakes over mine and I run my fingers up his back when the phone rings again, the tone piercing the room like a needle into skin.

Peeta groans in frustration and pulls away from me. I drop back onto his couch and sigh as he crosses the room to get the phone. I peek out at him and he blushes before turning away from me. His excitement is evident, and he feels sort of naked being watched, but I like it. I like that I make him feel alive.

"Hello," he greets the intruder on the other end of the line. I rise from the couch and walk over. Peeta eyes me warily, but I act innocent. It's not until I'm right in front of him that I push him into the kitchen wall. "Yes, I just saw Katniss a little while ago," Peeta lies, and I fumble with his belt. "What are you doing?!" he mouths frantically, but I already have his pants dropped to his ankles. I wrap my hand around him, bare in my hands. Peeta begs me with eyes. S _top. Go…_ I slide my hand up over him and his whole body shakes as he pushes himself back into the wall. He's trying not to make a sound, but he pulls the mouthpiece away as he shudders into my neck. I move with more purpose, and Peeta's eyes flutter. "Yes, Effie, I'll tell her to call Cinna as soon as she gets home," Peeta repeats, and when I squeeze him tight he begins to tremble. "Of course, Effie, I understand," he confirms, and I hear her voice on the other end and pick up my pace. His spare hand is clinging to the wall for all he's worth. He pants and gets wet in my hand as I continue to work him. "Yes, Effie. Mhm," he throws in occasionally, so she thinks he's still listening, but his eyes are on my hand. "Okay, see you then. Bye!" He slams the phone onto the receiver to conclude the phone call, then he finally lets go for me. It's only a few seconds before he's overcome, and then slides to the floor shivering and happy.

"You are crazy!" he teases, his eyes drooping. I sit on the floor next to him and rub his back as he tries to regain his composure. "That was so sexy," he whispers, and I feel my cheeks blush.

It turns out Cinna and Effie are coming to 12 tomorrow to do a photoshoot with some of the wedding dresses Cinna has designed. Apparently the Capitol has been voting on their favorite sketches, and the top six finalists have been constructed to be modeled by me for one final round of voting. I can't imagine what Capitol wedding gowns look like. In 12, we wear a clean, linen dress. It's not special. It's probably the same dress you wear to the Harvest Festival every year. Maybe even an old reaping dress. I wonder if I'll be donned in feathers or have some kind of grotesque head dress. All I can hope if Cinna was able to do something to satisfy their insane sense of fashion while still letting me feel like me.

They arrive with some fanfare. My prep team is in tow. Peeta has made himself scarce. "I'm not supposed to see you, remember?" he whispered before climbing out of my bed in the early morning, but I'd rather I had him here. None of this is real anyway. When Cinna squeezes me in a tight embrace I remember I'm not alone in this. The living room has been cleared and lit for the shoot. The dresses hang on a garment rack in the far corner. Some are just gaudy. Creamy satin with pink roses. One has an entire diamond sheath. Another has every inch covered in pearls. Each requires their own hair, make-up, head piece, jewelry… The whole process takes hours. When we finally reach the last dress, Prim bounces in from school. She stares at me like I'm made of glass, and I see tears glisten in her eyes. The dress is strapless and the bodice hugs my body tight before an A-line skirt falls away from my hips. The dress is made of lace and intricate frills line my skin, but in a subtle and refined sort of way. It's like I walked out of an old book. This feels sort of like home.

"I insisted we put this one in. The other five were voted on, this one was designer's choice. I know it won't win, but I wanted you to have a chance to wear it once," he whispers in my ear. I could see myself in this dress. It is beautiful, but bittersweet. This whole spectacle reminds me that our lives are not our own. That we were allowed to survive solely to please the people. That we have obligations we have to fulfill, that the courses of our lives will be determined for us. That in a few short months we will have to mentor a boy and girl from our district. Watch them die. Bring them home to be buried in the special part of the cemetery that is reserved for skeletons of children. I swallow a lump in my throat.

When the shoot is over, Prim looks at all the dresses, clapping and bouncing as Effie shows her each detail. The show will be in the next couple days. Cinna reveals to Prim a sketch of the dress he's working on for her and she gasps. "Now, stop looking so pretty. You don't want to show up the bride," he winks at her, and she giggles. I don't want Cinna to go. I want him to stay here with us, but their luggage is packed on the evening train and he and Effie are whisked back to the Capitol. My mother and Prim both seem exceedingly happy about the shoot, and I realize that they think this means we are safe. That Snow wouldn't invest time and energy into our wedding if he was just going to kill us. I shake my head, but let them bubble in their joyful obliviousness. That night Peeta climbs into my bed, but we don't talk. He just holds me while I dream of drowning in ten feet of silk. I wake up choking and he pulls his chest into mine, reminding me how to breathe.

The next morning I'm feeling frustrated about the rebellion. Everything seems to be moving forward on Snow's timetable, but I've hardly heard anything on our response. After Peeta heads home to bake, I walk to Haymitch's house. I'm sullen, and he can see right through me. We walk outside, our pace unhurried. "Can't we stand up here, like they did in Eight?" I ask.

"It won't work in Twelve," he replies.

"How do you know?" I spit back, less patient than I should be.

"Those other districts are huge, sweetheart. Eleven. Eight. Even if half the people hid in their homes, there would be enough rebels to mount a resistance against the Peacekeepers. Twelve isn't like that. It's all or nothing, and right now it's nothing," he replies calmly. I know he's right. Most of my neighbors would retreat from a fight. Us, Gale, and a few miners aren't going to overcome the Capitol on our own. I kick the dirt in defeat. "I just want to do something," I mumble.

"Keep doing exactly what you are doing. You'll know when it's time," Haymitch says before retreating back inside. _You'll know when it's time. You'll know when it's time._ His words ring in my head. I hope they are true.

When Prim comes home from school, she is effervescent with excitement. Her teacher said there will be a special broadcast from the Capitol tonight. "It's got to be your dresses! I told everyone at school how beautiful you looked!" Prim bubbles.

"It can't be tonight, they only did the pictures yesterday," I reply.

"Well, that's what everyone at school is saying," she replies back with unwavering optimism. I can't help but smile at her. We gather around the television after the dinner is cleaned up. Peeta sits on the couch with my mom, and I sit at his feet, my back leaning against his legs. It appears Prim was right. Pictures from yesterday flood the screen, along with instructions on how to vote. Prim jumps from her seat and covers Peeta's eyes playfully. Caesar Flickerman narrates the whole event to a standing room only crowd. Just as the broadcast seems to be drawing to a close, Caesar adds that we are to stay tuned for a big announcement regarding the Third Quarter Quell.

Fashion. Death. Pearls. Death. Diamonds. Death. The Capitol is insatiable.

"What will they do about the Games?" Prim asks. "It isn't for months yet."

"It must be the reading of the card," my mother mumbles under her breath. She's done a Quell before. It's even more brutal and awful than a normal Games. I think we should go get Haymitch, but there isn't any time. President Snow has already taken command of the stage, and the crowd is screaming wildly in their support. Snow is followed by a young boy carrying a plain, wooden box.

The president reminds us of the importance of the Quell. That every twenty-five years we hold a special anniversary Games, with a new twist to remind the districts of the power and brilliance of the Capitol. He tells us of the previous two Quells. On the first Quarter Quell, as a reminder that their children were dying because the rebels chose to initiate violence, every district was forced to hold an election and choose the children to be sent to the Games as tributes. The entire notion makes me feel sick. It's almost worst being turned over to the Capitol by your family and neighbors than blaming the randomness of the reaping bowl. On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two district rebels were lost for every one Capitol citizen, the districts were required to send twice as many tributes. I imagine facing forty-seven opponents in the Arena. I imagine the boxes and boxes of bodies sent home. That was the year Haymitch won, against impossible odds.

"This, on what will mark the seventy-fifth anniversary and Third Quarter Quell, shall be a glorious display!" The boy steps forward and Snow draws an envelope from the box with a large 75 embossed on the back. The box holds hundreds of envelopes. They've planned for centuries of Games. Snow rips open the envelope and a small smirk crosses his lips for a moment before disappearing. I question if I actually saw it. "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power and glory of the Capitol, the tributes shall be reaped from the existing pool of Victors!"

My mother shrieks. Prim buries her face in her hands. I scan the faces of the crowd on television. The existing pool of Victors. What does that even mean? Then it hits me.

I feel like I'm drowning. Me. Peeta. Haymitch. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. Before I know what I'm doing, I push myself to my feet and run out the door. I hear my mother call out behind me, but the throbbing in my ears buries the rest of the sound. Outside my door I stare at what surrounds me and I realize there is nowhere to go. The fence is electrified around my woods. The houses here are all Capitol-made, full of reminders and spies. My chest heaves uncontrollably, and I drop to the ground. I fist dirt in my hands and throw it wildly into the night air. I don't want to be here.

When Peeta approaches me, I spin around and beat his chest with my fists, as if any of this is his fault, but it is. It's his fault for making me love him. I scream and pound into him, but he just holds me tighter and tighter until we both drop to the ground, a sopping mess of mud and hurt and desperation and hopelessness. I cry until my lungs run out of air. He rocks me back and forth, stroking my mud-caked hair, whispering platitudes that aren't true. This is all useless. But I know what I have to do.

Peeta lives.


	11. Chapter 11 - Promises

Neither one of us wants to go home. I'll just have to comfort my mom and sister, and I don't have it in me tonight. Haymitch's light is on, and without any discussion we silently cross the lawn and knock.

"Well, if it isn't my fellow tributes," Haymitch slurs. His sobriety is over. "I don't want to talk about it," he mumbles and walks inside. We follow him in and close the door behind us. "What are you still doing here?" he asks when he realizes we're in his house.

"We want to be with you. We should be together tonight," Peeta says. He laughs sardonically.

"Well I'm drinking," he blathers.

"Us too," I say, and take two glasses from his cupboard and pour some white liquor for Peeta and myself. Peeta gives me a sideways look, but we both bring the glasses to our lips and swallow the alcohol. It burns all the way to my stomach. I cough and sputter. I look over at Peeta whose eyes are watering. Haymitch laughs again, only this time it's real.

"Okay then," he says, and pours us another round. We don't talk about the Reaping. We don't talk about the rebellion. We drink. We laugh. We make a mess. We play cards and gamble and pretend that all of us will be alive in six months' time. My head feels cloudy and I like it. I see why Haymitch drinks. The room tilts and I lay my cheek on the table. Peeta goes to the bathroom and stumbles a bit on his way back in. It's fun. I don't have to think about anything I don't want to think about.

It's normal for Haymitch to drink all night. He doesn't like to close his eyes in the dark. When we see the sun peeking through the faded yellow curtains of his kitchen window, Peeta and I make our way across the lawn to his house. "I need to bake," Peeta mumbles, but I grab his hand and drag him up to his room. We drop into bed, shoes on, clothes on. I close my eyes and the spinning feeling I thought was fun earlier now makes my stomach queasy. I just want the room to stay still. Peeta groans next to me. "Kat, I think I'm gonna be sick."

We spend the next few hours trading places puking in his toilet. I press my cheek to the cold tile floor. He lies across from me. With most of the alcohol flushed down the toilet, my mind is clearer and the impending circumstances of our situation begin to sink in. I'm going to lose him. I know Peeta is thinking the same thing, because his face is somber and serious.

"Peeta," I start, but he cuts me off.

"We need to start training," Peeta states.

"What are you talking about?" I ask.

"We need to approach these Games like Careers. Because two of us are coming home. One Victor and one Mentor," he states matter-of-factly.

"You don't know that," I reply weakly.

"Come on, let's get cleaned up," he says, pulling me from the floor. I wash in the shower and collapse on his bed. My head pounds and my mouth feels dry. Although there's nothing left in my stomach, I still feel sick. Peeta crawls in next to me, but when I wake hours later he's gone.

"Peeta? Peeta!" I start to panic as I rush through his house. _Stop being irrational_ , I tell myself. They wouldn't take him now. They want to kill him in front of millions of people, not quietly in some alley of District 12. But the panic inside me mounts as I go room-to-room and find them empty. When the front door opens, I see Peeta enters with an armful of food from the Market. "Damn it, Peeta," I exclaim, worry evident in my voice. "Where were you?" I sound more accusatory than I mean to, but it's an accurate gauge of how I'm feeling.

"I was at the Market," he says soothingly, gesturing to the bags in his hands.

"Don't lie to me," I snap angrily.

"I'm not lying," he reacts.

"Not telling the whole truth is lying," I spit back. I know where he was. I stare at him.

"Katniss," he starts, putting the bags on the counter and stepping toward me. I pull away from him, shoving his hands back and batting the tears from my eyes furiously. He doesn't get to lie to me then touch me.

"What did you say to him?" I blurt out, my tone desperate. I swallow hard. I refuse to cry. I already know what was said. He and Haymitch are going to try to keep me alive.

"He owes me. From the last Games, he owes me whatever I want," Peeta states as if it's some kind of indisputable fact. The comfort in his tone has vanished. This is not something he's backing down from.

"What did you do?" I ask, my voice shaking.

"I made him promise not to volunteer for me if my name was called. If you're going back into the Arena, then so am I," he replies.

"I don't want you to do that," I whisper, pulling back farther, stumbling backwards away from him.

"He's an old drunk, Katniss. He can't protect you in there. Our best bet is with him on the outside, doing what he knows how to do," Peeta explains.

"I don't care!" I cry.

"If you are going in, then I'll be right beside you." I feel like my chest is going to explode. I'm going to hyperventilate. He can't go back to the Arena. "We run away together or we stay here together. We fight together. I don't care what we are doing, Katniss, we are doing it together," he says, trying to close the distance between us. I back up until I hit the stairs.

"So what, now we can die together too? Is that your brilliant plan?" I'm yelling now. I have nowhere left to retreat.

"You know that's not what I mean," he says back.

"Then what exactly do you mean, Peeta? Because I'm pretty sure I'm not on board with that plan, either." I know his plan. Keep me alive as long as he can, and sacrifice himself when he has to. It's exactly my plan in reverse. He looks down at me. Both our chests rise and fall rapidly. I feel heat billowing from his body. We're angry and we're in love and there's no word for what we are feeling. There is no word for what is happening between us.

Our bodies crash together in a hunger that's entirely new and desperate. I leap up and wrap my legs around his waist. Peeta steps forward and sweeps everything off the counter. The bags from the Market and some random kitchen wares crash onto the floor. He lays me on the counter in front of him and crawls on top of me. I rip his shirt as I claw it away from his body. I want his skin. Peeta is everywhere - my mouth, my collarbone, my ribs, my hips. I can't keep track of him and every part of me sparks under his lips. My back arches away from the countertop and he groans as my body presses into his.

I pull my shirt over my head and throw it to the floor. Peeta's eyes widen. He's never seen me like this, entirely bare in front of him, and his jaw hangs open. His hands sweep under my back and he drops his mouth to my breasts. He runs his tongue over my nipple until it hardens in his lips. I feel him hard through his pants. I rock my hips into his and his hot breath lights my skin as he exhales onto me. I need him. I need to know there's nothing between us. My hands drop to his belt and I fumble with it, unclasping it and tugging it away from his pants. Peeta's fingers mirror mine, pulling the button of my slacks through its hole. We're ripping each other's clothes away from our bodies when our hands suddenly just stop. We look at each other, Peeta hovering over me, my back pressed to the counter, panting. I feel the sob I stifled earlier rack through me. Peeta sits up and pulls my naked chest into his, and we just hold each other. We rock slowly. This wasn't supposed to be how this happened between us – this wasn't supposed to be some rushed act of desperation. I pull away from him and slide off the counter. I wipe the tears from my face. This is the last time I cry over this. I pick up my shirt from the floor and pull it back over me.

"My head hurts," I complain, and go upstairs to his room. I grab some of my things and head back downstairs and out the front door. I don't bother saying goodbye. I walk directly to Haymitch's house. He tries to greet me drunkenly, but I brush it off. I'm not in the mood for pleasantries.

"I must say it was easier with the boy," Haymitch pronounces as he refills his glass. "Begging me for another chance to go in. But what can you say? 'Take his place, Haymitch, because I'd rather my boyfriend have a crack at his life than you?'"

I bite my lip. There is no world in which I could ever hurt Haymitch in the Arena, but it's a joke of an idea to think he'd make it out alive. What I'm asking from him is a death sentence.

"I know you can't do that without going back on your word with Peeta," I dismiss, as if the idea is foolish to even discuss. "You made him a promise. Peeta goes in. But you need to make me a promise, too."

"Oh? And what's that?" he asks.

"Peeta lives, not me. You chose me last time. It's his turn," I state. He nods his head slowly, but he's still digesting. "Haymitch, Snow hates me. I'm as good as dead. There is no amount of mentoring that's bringing me back from this Arena alive. But Peeta still has a chance." He knows I'm right.

"Okay," he sighs quietly.

"Unless you have a better idea?" I ask. He knows what I mean. The rebellion. Can they intervene? I know they are planning something. Are they putting a stop to the Quell? I already know the answer before Haymitch shakes his head. If the rebellion could stop the Quell, Haymitch wouldn't be drinking himself into oblivion in his house.

"If his name is called, I'll volunteer," Haymitch says softly. "If it's my name, though, there's nothing I can do."

"I know," I reply. I'm quiet for a minute. "It'll be bad for you in the Arena, won't it? Knowing everyone?"

"Oh, I think I can count on it being unbearable wherever I am," he responds, pulling a swig of liquor through his teeth.

I rise to my feet and head to the door. "Haymitch," I start, and he looks up at me. He looks tired. I don't know what to say. I'm sorry? Instead I just look at him, but he knows. We aren't wordy people. We don't need to say everything out loud.

My sister skipped school. When I walk in the front door, she and my mom sweep me into a warm embrace. I let the heat from their bodies permeate mine, thaw my heart. They put me to bed. They bring me tea and biscuits. They braid my hair. They're quiet. There's not a lot of talking. I curl on my side and don't sleep.

I hear my sister downstairs pack a basket for Peeta. She's gone for hours. I don't eat dinner that night. When the crickets outside begin singing, oblivious that the world in this Village has come crashing to a hopeless halt, I cross the lawn to Peeta's. I don't knock anymore. I push his door open and step inside. The mess from earlier has been cleaned up. The kitchen is tidy. No evidence of any cooking gives itself away. I wonder if he didn't eat either.

On the table I notice some paper and I run my fingertips over it as I read.

 _Day 1 Fri – Calisthenics, 5 Mile Run (1 Haymitch)  
Day 2 Sat – Hand-to-Hand combat, 5 Mile Run (1.5 Haymitch)  
Day 3 Sun – Snares (Gale)_

The list goes on and on. Another piece of paper has Prim's handwriting on it. It looks like a meal plan to promote weight gain and muscle growth. _Goat's milk. Eggs._

"Hey," a voice says from behind me, and I jump reflexively. I don't mean to. I know it's Peeta. But since yesterday, every fiber of my body is alive and on edge. Waiting for someone to attack. Someone to kill.

"What is this?" I ask, reading through the papers.

"A training plan. I called Effie. She's going to send us Game tapes of all the surviving Victors so we can start to prepare strategy, too," he explains. I want to shake him.

I'm not getting out of these Games alive. I can pretend the Quell card was random, but I'm already suspecting it's not. The Reapings won't be random either. I know exactly who is going in. Rebels. Finnick. Chaff. Haymitch. Snow will load the Careers with loyalists, and he'll either kill the rebels or tear us apart. I'm angry, because based on my theory I think Haymitch's name will be called. There will be nothing either of us can do to stop Peeta from throwing himself in front of me, which is useless. I'm a dead man walking. I was dead the second I held out those berries. I was dead when I thanked District 11. I was dead when I saved Gale and Bristel from the mine. I've been dead for a long time, I just didn't know it yet.

"Can we do this tomorrow?" I ask wearily. "Can you just hold me tonight?"

We go upstairs. Neither of us sleep.


	12. Chapter 12 - Race

Peeta wakes me up early the next morning. Normally I'm an early riser, but I don't want to get out of bed. I have a limited number of days to wake up wrapped in his smell, his sheets, his arms. I don't want to waste them. The only thing that forces me to play along with his ridiculous training regimen is that it will increase Peeta's own chance of survival.

Mornings consist of strength exercises, weights, and running. We eat an early lunch. My mom and sister make thick, chunky drinks full of protein and amino acids and other muscle-building junk that tastes like dirt. In the afternoon we work on different skills - hand-to-hand combat, knife throwing, weaponry. Different people from town show us skills they've acquired. Rye comes after school and acts as a sparring partner. He shows me some wrestling moves where I can use my attacker's weight against them. One afternoon, he slams me into the ground harder than he means to and it knocks the wind out of me. In a moment Peeta has thrown him off me and into the air. His face is unrecognizable, and I realize this experience with Peeta in the Arena will be very different than my last. When he had something to live for.

"Peeta!" I gasp, choking for air. "It was an accident." He looks down and sees Rye crawling away from him on the ground. He turns and walks away. I think back to Peeta before our Games, sitting in the window sill. He wanted to be himself in the Arena. He didn't want the Capitol to change him. That's not my partner this time. Peeta has given up on who he is and what he will or won't do.

At night we watch old Game films. Peeta takes studious notes on the Victor's skills and weaknesses. I do the math and realize some of these people are going to be elderly. Haymitch offers what he knows about their personalities. The whole spectacle makes me despondent, and I go to bed night after night without words. I am haunted by victors and mutts alike in my dreams. I stop waking Peeta if I can help it. This isn't about me anymore. He needs to sleep.

The training is hard on Haymitch. Peeta drags him through every bit of it. On the day Peeta pushes him to run three miles, Haymitch collapses and vomits on the side of the road. I rush next to him. He roars and pushes me away. "I'm not doing this anymore," he bellows, spitting bits of puke from his mouth.

"Come on, Haymitch," Peeta encourages him, but it's not working.

"What is the point of this? We already agreed you'd go back in!" Haymitch coughs.

"Because I have no idea what you promised her," Peeta says and walks away from us. Haymitch and I just stare at each other. "Let's go!" Peeta barks as he starts running again.

"Come on, old man," I say, pulling Haymitch to his feet. We jog behind Peeta. That night we don't speak through dinner. My mother watches the three of us cautiously.

The training continues. As hard as it's been for Haymitch, we all grow stronger. More muscular. Our stamina improves. Peeta doesn't relent, though. He only pushes us harder. At night I collapse beside him in bed, but we don't touch. We barely talk. Everything hurts. I don't even feel like we are together anymore. I roll away from him and focus on the cooling sensation of my cheek on the pilllow case.

The next morning, I wake up naturally. That hasn't happened in weeks. I roll over and look at the clock. Ten-thirty. Peeta's going to kill me. I get dressed quickly and rush downstairs when the aroma stops me mid-stride. Cheese buns. Bacon popping and sizzling on a pan. Peeta is at the sink, rinsing a bowl. I watch his back, his broad shoulders as they flex with the movement of his hands. Peeta has easily put on twenty pounds, most of it muscle. I find my eyes lingering on him, a fire burning in my stomach.

"Oh hey," he says with a smile as he turns around. "Breakfast?"

"Um, yeah," I mumble. He fills my plate with food and slides a cup of coffee in front of me. "Thanks," I respond before eating. My throat swells as I fight back tears. This is what I wanted our last few months to be like. As much of this as possible. I look at the bulk of his frame and know we've done the right thing though. He looks like a fighter. A survivor. He doesn't look like a boy anymore.

"How about we take Tuesdays off?" he says.

"Really?" I ask, and he nods. "Tuesdays off," I reply with palpable relief. I eat and notice myself watching Peeta. He catches me, and I grin shyly and look back down at my plate. Smiling feels weird. I haven't smiled in weeks.

We spend the day lounging around the house in our pajamas. We kiss and flirt and nap. That night, Peeta runs me a bath with lavender oil which steams up the bathroom. I soak my muscles while he sits on the closed toilet lid, reading to me from an old book. I watch his mouth as he reads aloud.

"Peeta?" I whisper. The room is silent.

"Yeah?" he replies, folding the corner of the page and setting the book on the counter.

"Come in with me?" I ask. I feel as though I can hear his heart pounding, although maybe it's just mine. His eyes are wide and I can tell he's holding his breath. "Come in with me," I more exhale than speak. He stands and pulls his shirt over his head. The bruise from weeks ago has faded into a pale yellow that is barely noticeable against his skin. He starts to undo his belt and I think he expects me to turn away from him, but I just keep my eyes glued to his body. His fingers shake as he slides them over his pants and drops them to the floor. He blushes under my gaze, but I think he's beautiful. His torso is long and lean, his arms muscular and defined. I dare myself to look everywhere, and he watches me scanning his body for a moment before looking at the wall. "Come in with me," I say again, and Peeta steps in the water and lowers himself into the far side of the tub. Our legs mingle in the middle like old friends. I unhook his prosthetic and lay it on the floor, spilling water everywhere. I want it to just be us.

"This is nice," he whispers, and I nod. We sit there and talk until the water gets cold and my jaw starts to shake. "You're frozen," Peeta laughs. "Time to get out." I shake my head and crawl across the tub into his space. "Katniss, what are you…?" I kiss him softly. The room is silent, and I hear the water swishing between us and splashing on the side of the porcelain bath. I hear the sound of our lips parting and finding one another again, and I think how our lips tell mimic our journey here. Parting, finding each other. Crashing, coaxing, caressing. Learning, pushing each other away, pulling each other back in. His hands trace my ribs. We've never been naked together before and my stomach whirls under his fingertips. I tug his hair gently and he sighs into me. The beautiful feeling only lasts for a second, though, because we both remember our time together is momentary.

"I don't want you to die for me," I beg. He stares at me. "Peeta," I breathe, dropping my head to his chest.

"It's cold. Let's get out," he states as he stands and pulls me up. Peeta grabs a towel and wraps it around my body, before he pulls me into his arms and kisses my soaked hair. "I don't want you to die for me either," he whispers before he leaves the bathroom.

We go to bed with wet hair. We stare at the ceiling. We want each other. We keep to ourselves. There's nothing left to say.

"I love you," I offer into the darkness.

"I love you, too," he says back, and rolls on his side away from me. When he finally drifts, I throw on a sweater and creep out into the night. I need to think, and I can't do it with his smell invading my senses. With his breath on my skin. I walk across the street to a tree that towers over one of the empty houses. I swing my legs up and start to climb. The higher I go, the clearer I feel. I stare out over the district. My district. My home. I offer it a good-bye. I stay here for a while, calmed by the night air.

"Katniss!" I hear Peeta call from the ground. I look down and only quickly meet his eyes before looking away again. I can hear him pacing the bottom, assessing the climb. "Please don't make me do this," he calls again, but I ignore him and climb higher. I hear him take a deep breath. He's trying to pump himself up, and finally he leaps up and grabs the bottom branch. He sloppily swings his body over and begins to climb. It's not graceful at all. He's not comfortable off the ground. Out of pity I stop climbing and wait for him. When he finally reaches me, his eyes are wide and his knuckles white as they cling to the trunk.

"What are you doing?" I ask, a smile creeping across my face.

"You said come get you. If you ran away to come get you," he repeats, his voice shaky as he eyes the distance to the ground. "Why are you laughing?" he asks franticly.

"You just…" I can't help it. I am losing it. "You look so scared!" I cackle.

"And that's funny?" he asks, but he's starting to laugh now, too. "I'm not even sure how to get down," he chuckles, clinging harder to the trunk.

"You don't want to hear this, but it's harder than getting up. That's why Buttercup gets stuck all the time," I say, and he looks at me helplessly.

"So you weren't running away?" he asks quietly.

"I wasn't running away," I confirm in a whisper.

"Then what are you doing up here, Katniss?" Peeta says.

"Saying goodbye," I murmur, and the smile drops from his face. We climb down in silence. We don't go back to bed. We drink tea and sit on the couch and refuse to talk about it.

We resume training. If anything, we push each other harder than before. We talk about little else besides fighting techniques. Weak points. Defensive measures. Instead of a battle between us and them, it's almost like a battle between Peeta and me. The only good part is seeing Haymitch get stronger. In the event he enters the Arena, he's got a fighting chance.

"Hey!" I hear a shout from behind me while I'm doing push-ups. I know that voice.

"Gale!" I cry out, jumping to my feet and throwing my arms around his neck. I'm grateful to see my best friend. I'm grateful to see anyone who won't immediately order me to do twenty more push-ups. Bristel hobbles up behind him, still on crutches. He expects he'll be done with them soon, though, he tells me.

"Hey guys," Peeta greets them as he jogs up. "Can you maybe give us a half hour? We are almost done."

"No, we have a mission for you," Gale states with a grin. A mission? Has he heard something from the rebellion? Why wouldn't Haymitch have said something? I look over and Haymitch is staring at him incredulously. Peeta looks lost.

"All three of you are required at the school in ten minutes. You have to be back here in one hour to be deemed successful," Bristel says, staring at his watch. Ten minutes? The school is well over a mile away. We'll need to run hard.

"What are you talking about?" Peeta asks.

"Nine minutes and forty-five seconds," Gale says, and the three of us take of running. My mind races as my feet slam into the ground. We arrive at the school sweating and legs shaking from the sprint. The school principal is standing outside, and the students are gathered behind him. I find Prim and she smiles broadly at me.

"Welcome to the first and only Tribute Triathalon!" he bellows. The children behind him cheer and clap. "In order to complete the first leg of your mission, you'll need to put forth a tribute." We stare between the three of us. We have no idea what's going on.

"I volunteer as tribute?" Peeta asks, and the kids applaud and start chanting his name in encouragement. Peeta smiles, still confused.

"Good choice. Your tribute shall face our champion in the wrestling match to end all wrestling matches!" The principal's words are corny to say the least. He's catering to small children after all, but watching their faces bright and smiling… This doesn't happen in 12. We don't smile. We don't laugh. We don't play games. But in this moment, we don't care.

The school champion is Rye. He may have been a match for Peeta before, but since our training regimen it's no contest. Peeta has him pinned in under a minute, and the children all explode in an ecstatic uproar of joy. A little girl comes up and presents Peeta with a piece of foil tied together with a string. I think it's supposed to be a medal. He kneels in front of her and kisses her cheek. She blushes furiously and runs back to her friends.

"The next leg of your journey takes you to the market!" the principal tells us. We don't have much time to get there either, and the three of us taking off running down the road. The market is a generous name for a small square in town where the few farmers of 12 sell their goods. They don't own their own store space and instead rent footage in front of existing shops in exchange for produce or livestock. When we reach the square, Rooba the butcher is set up at a table with two dead chickens and a cleaver. This challenge was meant for me.

"I volunteer!" I huff as I grab my knees, trying to catch my breath. "I volunteer as tribute." The words feel weird. They were never meant to be fun. From the looks of it, Rooba and I are racing to defeather a chicken. Maybe she does this as a living, but she also has the privilege of plucking birds leisurely in her own home. I strip and gut birds in the forest, where at any second I could be shot for poaching. It's a whole different kind of speed. A whistle blows, and I begin right away.

"Come on, Katniss!" I hear Peeta call out in the background. I can already see Rooba is struggling, and it hits me. She's able to boil them. She's not used to doing it straight from the bird. She's only halfway done when my bird is naked. I throw my hands in the air.

"Check! Check!" I cry out. Greasy Sae walks over and inspects my chicken. She hands me a piece of foil on string, and I throw it over my neck. Peeta spins me in the air and Haymitch claps my back. This is excessive celebration for plucking a chicken, but we don't care.

We're sent sprinting to the mines. When we get there, Haymitch is heaving. I regret having Peeta go first. Haymitch is in no shape to perform any kind of physical feat. Outside the mine are two wheelbarrows. A bulky, muscular miner, I think his name is Gauge, is standing in front of one of them. Surrounding him are different heavy looking objects – a pile of unrefined coal, some steel beams, a stack of bricks, a bag of concrete mix. He tells Haymitch that they are racing to the far tree and back, but Haymitch can choose anything in the area to fill his wheelbarrow with. Haymitch assesses the objects while Gauge loads his barrow with the bricks. I can tell Haymitch's mind is working quickly, trying to assess which of these items would make lightest load. I don't really think it matters. There is nothing Haymitch could pile in his wheelbarrow that would make him able to outrun this man. I've just about given up when a devious smile spreads across his face.

"I'm allowed to put anything in mine?" Haymitch confirms.

"Yeah, anything," Gauge replies, readying himself at the end of his wheelbarrow.

"Okay, then. Get in," Haymitch says, patting the inside. Gauge looks back at the foreman, who is laughing.

"Sorry, Gauge, get in," he says, and Peeta and I grin wildly. He can't exactly race if he has to wait until Haymitch is done. Watching Haymitch lug this three-hundred pound man to the tree and back is quite the comedy, but in the end he is declared victorious. Gauge hands him the foil with the string around it, and we take off running for my house. We don't have a lot of time to make it back, and we sprint with all our might. As we approach Victor's Village, we see the street is lined with people, all clapping and calling our names. I see faces I know, people I know. Miners, merchants, teachers, friends. This is my home. We are not in this alone. We are not grieving alone. We are not reaped alone. This impacts our entire district.

At the top of the street Gale and Bristel are urging us forward, waving their hands. We make it to the crest of the hill and collapse at their feet. Bristel shouts out, "I declare these the winners of the Tribute Triathalon!" The whole crowd cheers and screams. I catch Gale's eye and we share a moment before the crowd descends. I grab Peeta and Haymitch's hands. We looks stupid, the three of us - dirt covering our knees, poorly cut out foil circles tied around our necks, heaving chests for a victory that means nothing. But it means something to them. It means something to us. It means we're in this with you. It means we're sorry. It means thank you. It means you're part of us. It means good luck.

It means goodbye.


	13. Chapter 13 - Reaping

The night before the Reaping, none of us eat. Haymitch has been a staple at the Everdeen dinner table, but tonight he's absent. I suspect he's drowning himself drunk, but I'm not going to get in the way of that. I say goodnight to my mother and sister before walking over to Peeta's. We linger in our embraces. My mom asks me if I need help getting ready in the morning. She always lays out my Reaping dress, but Cinna has sent some clothes down already. I just nod. I'm sure dressing me one last time will offer her some closure after I'm gone.

Neither Peeta or I sleep. Scenarios from tomorrow keep rolling through my brain. I just need Peeta's name to be called. That's it. I know he's lying next to me, hoping for the exact opposite. He's never felt so close, yet so far away. I roll on my side to face him.

"Hey," I whisper. He rolls on his side, mirroring me.

"Hey," he whispers back.

"No matter what happens tomorrow, you'll still love me, right?" I ask.

"Did you flip Haymitch, Katniss?" Peeta asks back, anxiety growing in his voice. Sadness.

"Because I'll love you either way," I insist.

He's quiet for a minute. "I don't know how to not love you," he exhales, leaving the words in the air between us. I lean over and kiss him slowly, but he doesn't kiss me back. When I open my eyes I see tears falling down the side of his face.

"Shhh," I breathe as I wrap my body around his. I tangle our legs, I pull his torso to mine. I feel him sobbing into me and I will my body to be still. Finally his chest stops shaking, and I run my fingers longways over the length of his back. A song finds its way to my throat that my dad used to sing. Old and sad and so true it breaks my heart. I hum it, the melody low and smooth, but I keep the words to myself.

 _Once upon a dream  
You were heaven-sent to me  
But it was never meant to be  
Now you're just a dream  
We could begin again  
But only in a dream_

Peeta and I don't dream. The only thing that greets us at night is terror. Whichever one of us is left won't find the other in some blissful slumber. We'll just watch the other die over and over. But the calming effect I was hoping for works, and Peeta's muscles relax as my voice envelopes the room. I play with his hair tenderly, the way I imagine his mother would have if she'd ever loved him. I think he could love again. He has an open heart. Maybe someday he can share this bed with someone good. Someone decent. Someone to give him children. Someone less callous. Someone who is easier to love.

The sun comes too quickly. I'm not ready to say goodbye to my home, my family, my district. Peeta makes some toast, but I end up tossing it in the lawn as we cross to my house. We change in separate rooms. Cinna did not dress us up. We don't look our best. We look like us. It almost makes it worse. They aren't reaping proud victors, they're reaping us.

I reach down and hold Prim for a long while. I imagine never letting her go, but a knock on the door slams all of us back into reality. My mom opens the entrance to find a squad of Peacekeepers to escort us to the Reaping. I guess they figured we might run. Haymitch is already in their custody. He doesn't look hungover. He just looks dead inside.

By the time we reach the Justice Building, the square is full. The day is hot and sultry. Sweat sticks to skin, but there are no complaints. Everyone watches silently as the Capitol gets ready to take away their victors. Their people. The area is packed with Peacekeepers, guns trained on the crowd. Dozens more were shipped in to monitor the Reaping. I imagine they are here to stay. We are escorted to the stage, and I feel like a pig in line for slaughter. Effie, bangled wig-to-heel in gold, lacks her normal fervor. "Ladies first!" She stiffens her chin, and reaches into the giant glass Reaping bowl. It's quite an effort to fish my name from the bottom, and when she reads it aloud I step forward and take my place as female tribute. My hands shake as she crosses to the bowl containing the potential male tributes. Two slips of paper sit in the bowl, like a pair sisters whispering secrets. I find Prim in the crowd. Effie reaches into the bowl, and I hold my breath. She doesn't know how to react, and instead with no gusto at all, she reads, "Haymitch Abernathy."

"I volunteer as tribute," Peeta says before she's even finished speaking his name. And it's done.

We are immediately marched into the Justice Building by Head Peacekeeper Thread. The armed guard starts pushing us toward the exit, and I realize what's going on. "New procedure," he snarls.

"Wait, no!" I scream and pull away. "I get to say goodbye!" I search desperately for Prim, who I see shuffled in the crowd, screaming my name. "I get to say goodbye!" But I don't. I'm literally dragged to the train station and we're shoved inside. I rush to the back of the train in time to see the district shrink away from me. I remain in the last car long after the woods have consumed the last bit of home. I expected this all to be awful, but I thought I'd get to hold my sister one more time. I actually planned what I'd say to her, to my mom, to Gale. But my goodbyes hang on my lips, never to be spoken.

"We'll write them letters," I hear Peeta say from behind me. "It will be better that way. They'll have something physical of us to hang on to. Haymitch will make sure they get them if…" His voice trails off. I nod, but I know I'll never write them. I have to put them behind me now if I'm going to save Peeta. I can't be thinking about Prim. She's safe, away, and behind me.

"Is it weird I feel kind of home on the train?" he asks as he tries to keep his voice light.

"No, it's not weird," I reply. Familiar spaces. I stand up and walk past him, pausing in the doorway. "Coming?" I ask, and he follows me down the hall to my room.

Everything about the train feels the same. My sheets are softer than any fabric I've ever felt. My bathroom is tiled and the shower stands with the same glass walls I tried to hide behind on our tour. My fingers touch the glass, and I remember Peeta and me inside, clothed, wet, mouths everywhere. Making promises to each other. Saying something.

It all seems so long ago, so stupid now. We wasted so much time.

"I'm going to clean up before dinner," Peeta says. "My clothes are drenched in sweat."

Mine too. They actually feel heavy and cold in the temperature-controlled train. I just nod.

"You want me to stay here with you?" he asks.

I nod again. Peeta turns away from me and begins to unbutton his sweat-soaked shirt to shower. I step forward and press my chest to his back. I weave my arms through his and take over, unfastening each button and finally pulling his shirt from his body. My hands drop to his belt, and I can feel his body shaking against mine. "Katniss, I –" he starts, but the words get gargled in his throat as I start caressing him, his pants dropping to the floor. His head falls backwards and his legs tremble underneath him as I start to stroke him in earnest. He moans softly and his hands reach behind him to cling to my hips. "I need you," he breathes, and spins around.

His mouth crashes into my own. His hands drop to the backs of my thighs and he lifts me up and places me on the bathroom counter. His mouth travels my neck, biting at me and lavishing my skin with his tongue. I pick up the pace with my hand, and he shivers in my arms. "I need your skin," he begs, and begins tugging at my shirt. I lift it over my head and drop it to the floor. "All of it," he says, his voice husky and rumbling. His hands swiftly pull my pants away from me, and they hang at my ankles before he finally frees my legs and drops the clothes with the others, discarded on the floor. His eyes are all over me. The ache between my legs has started to throb, and when he drops his hand between us, I cry out.

"Oh god, Katniss," he grunts as he runs his hands over me, soaking his fingers and sliding them to the spot that makes every muscle in my body clench. He moves his hand to match my tempo, and I grip him tighter. We've done this before, but never at the same time, never this exposed, never in the stark light where everything is obvious. We've had hushed moments in the dark of his bedroom or on the train, where our hands explored, but there's no hiding what we are doing now, and it makes it all the more real. I want it to be real. I want as many real moments as I can have with him before my moments are done. When he slips his fingers inside me, I arch my back. Real real real.

Everything feels bright and my legs start to tighten. "Peeta, I can't, I'm… Oh god," I start to quiver under his fingertips as I clench my eyes shut. Everything comes at me in waves and I cling to Peeta to keep from falling from the counter. I feel his body stiffen and for a brief few seconds, we let go together – shaking, crying out, in love – and then our bodies relax and I have to grab the counter to keep from slipping off. I smile and laugh a little, and he places his hot lips against my fiery skin.

"That was new," he smiles, and he drops his head to my shoulder. "I don't think I ever want to come without you again," he breathes, and then the mood shifts. He meant it to be sweet, but he's talking about a future we don't have. I pull away from him. Things feel suddenly dark. We shower separately, clean up, find new clothes. We head down to the dining car.

The meal is subdued. So subdued, in fact, there are long moments of silence where none of us say anything.

"I love your new hair, Effie," Peeta says, referring to her gold wig. It reminds me a little of my sister's Harvest Festival dress. I swallow hard and push Prim out of my mind.

"Thank you! I had it specially made to match Katniss's pin. I was thinking maybe we'd find you a gold ankle band or a gold bracelet for Haymitch, that way we'd all look like a team," she replies. Effie looks over and notices Haymitch sitting silently, not watching the exchange. "What do you think, Mr. Abernathy?"

"Sure. Whatever," he mumbles. He's still sober, but I can tell he wants to drink. He wants to get himself blindingly drunk so he doesn't have to see any of this.

"Maybe we could get you a wig to match Effie's," I joke, but he shoots me a look that says he's not in the mood. I realize that he was truly ready to die for Peeta. He was preparing himself for a suicide mission, and knowing that he may not be able to save either of us is destroying him.

We eat our custard in silence, and after the plates are cleared, Effie asks if we should recap the Reapings. We all nod. Peeta runs to his room to get his notebook on the living victors and we all settle in front of the television.

In the history of the Games, there have been seventy-five victors. Fifty-nine of them are still alive. Many I recognize, either from television or from our private viewings, but many others I do not. Time has changed them, or drugs, or illness.

Unsurprisingly, the Reaping pools in 1, 2, and 4 are enormous, and many seem eager to get back in the Arena. Every district, however, is able to put forth at least one male and female tribute. Haymitch watches, his face devoid of emotion, as his friends take the stage. As his friends are ordered to their deaths. Some names I'm not surprised by – Chaff, Finnick, Haymitch. When a woman named Cecelia is reaped in 11, her children cling to her legs and scream when she's finally ripped away from them. Effie makes distressed comments, and I realize she knows these people, too.

I try to take mental notes, but my head is cloudy. I see Peeta scribbling in his notebook, circling and scratching things. There are the brother and sister from District 1. I imagine what it would be like to have Prim with me in the Arena. I swallow as bile rises in my throat. Finnick is reaped alongside a hysterical young woman from 4. She can't be a rebel. She looks like she's barely grasping reality, and an elderly woman volunteers to take her place. Johanna is reaped. I'm not sure if she was targeted as a rebel, but she's the only female victor from her district. I'm called. Haymitch. Peeta volunteers. The screen goes black.

Haymitch gets up and leaves without a word. Effie gives us a pitiful look, and then quickly clicks out of the room after Haymitch. I sit on the couch as Peeta rips pages out from his notebook of victors who were not reaped. He catches me staring.

"Why don't you go to bed? I want to review my notes for a while. Get an idea of who we're up against," he says, more toward the notebook although it's obviously directed at me.

"I can help," I state.

"I'll go over it with you in the morning," he replies, as if dismissing me from the room. I sit there stubbornly and look at him. "What?"

"We do everything together from here on out. So read to me," I reply.

"Katniss," he starts, but I scowl at him and he gives up. I drop my head in his lap and he starts with District 1.

Everything together. Period.


	14. Chapter 14 - Sorry

Effie and Haymitch find Peeta and me asleep on the couch, the notebook sprawled out between us. We've both written things in the margins and pieces of scrap paper are tucked in between the pages. They wake me first, and when I sit up and look at Peeta, I remember finding him and my sister crashed in my living room, her math book left open to a page on geometric formulas, a smudge of ink on her finger. Peeta will take care of her after I'm gone.

We head sleepily to the dining car and eat breakfast. While I have no appetite, I plan on stuffing every bit of food I can get in me before we enter the Arena. I force Peeta to drink a second glass of juice. Holding the crystal glass in my hand, I remember when they pulled us out of the Arena – Peeta bleeding out and his chest leaping under the paddles. I remember the glass of juice they pushed into my hands, how it looked so pretty and foreign and wrong in my bloody, mud-caked hands and broken fingernails.

I'm clearly living in the past this morning. Holding on to what I know. I can't help it. I don't have a future.

Effie tells us we have one more full day on the train and we'll arrive in the Capitol tomorrow morning. We spend the afternoon in the dining room strategizing with Haymitch. He wants us to make allies. I immediately reject the idea.

"Maybe it's not such a bad notion, Katniss," Peeta says. "If we are going into this as Careers – they always have partners."

" _You_ are my partner," I spit back. I can't believe he'd even entertain the idea of allies. He's too trusting. Too good. Anyone that partners with us in the Arena will turn on whichever one of us outlives the other. And I'm planning on that being Peeta. I'm not going to die and leave him in close proximity to trident boy.

The train brakes, and I'm instantly on my feet. _Outside_ , I order with my eyes, and the boys follow me. When we've put enough distance between ourselves and the train, I resume the argument. I assume this is the last time I'll be able to even utter the word rebellion in my life.

"Just because these people are part of the rebellion doesn't mean for a second I'm going to trust them in an Arena," I bark at Haymitch. "Only one tribute is coming out, and it's going to be one of us." It's going to be Peeta.

"What is the rebellion doing about the Quell?" Peeta asks, his voice low.

"There's not a lot they can do, kid. Most of our key allies in the districts have been reaped. The Capitol did this on purpose. Four is a lost cause without Finnick. Eight is outraged over Cecelia, and it's not likely they'll wait to riot without Chaff there. Our only advantage in that district is the sheer volume of rebels, but if they're all executed before we can organize a front, we lose that foothold. Right now the rebellion is focusing on finding new leaders in the districts and keeping things from collapsing during the Quell. They don't have the resources to actually stop it," Haymitch explains. "You two need to stop thinking about the rebellion now. You need to focus on the surviving the Quell. That's it. Just stay alive in there, for as long as you can."

 _Why is Chaff in 8?_ I want to ask, but suddenly I don't care. It's exactly what I suspected. The rebellion, whoever or whatever that means, does not have the strength to stand up to the Capitol. I dismissed it long ago, but I can tell Peeta was still holding on to some hope they'd stop this thing. With that evaporated, his face steels.

"I agree with Katniss, then," Peeta states. "Just because they're a rebel it doesn't mean we can trust them when it's their life or hers."

"Or ours," I whisper.

"What?" he asks.

"Their life or _ours_ ," I state, and storm off toward the train. I don't know why I am angry with him when we are planning the exact same thing, but I know the person trying the hardest to make sure Peeta doesn't make it out of the Arena is Peeta. I don't know what to do. I feel myself start to choke on the saliva building in my throat, and I spit it desperately at the ground.

I board the train and slam the door closed to my room. I hear Peeta knocking quietly on the outside.

"Katniss," he calls, his voice hushed. I ignore him. I hear his head drop against the barrier between us. "Katniss," he begs, and I open the door. We stand in the doorway for a minute, neither of us knowing what to say. There is nothing left to say. I love you. Don't die for me. It's all been said. Peeta slides his hands down to my hips and pushes me into the doorframe. He presses his mouth to mine, my tongue on his lips, his heart on his sleeve. He slides a hand onto my lower back and pulls me into him. I can feel him there, present, alive. I remember the last time we kissed like this in my doorway, on the way out of 10. Live in the past. There is no tomorrow.

"Just get in here," I whisper into his mouth, and he enters my room. We spend most of the afternoon not talking in ways that make me blush to think about.

Dinner is quiet. We eat until we can't fit in anymore. That night, Haymitch locks himself in his room and Effie goes to bed early. I head to my room to shower, and when I come out I find Peeta in the lounge car, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the television, sorting through tapes. He's holding one in his hand with a perplexed look on his face.

"Hey," I say.

"Hey," he replies, not looking up.

"What's wrong?" I ask, sitting on the floor next to him. He hands me the tape. It's labeled _50 – Abernathy (12)_.

"I thought we should watch a Quell. There might be something useful we can learn. But Effie only sent tapes of the living victors, so this is the only Quell we have," he says quietly. He doesn't need to say more. It feels like a strange invasion of privacy to watch Haymitch's Games, even though it's been seen publicly by millions. Peeta pushes himself to his feet and runs his hands through his hair. He's frustrated. I hold out my arms and he walks into them.

He buries his face in my shoulder, and for one moment, we let the pretense between us drop. We stop lying to each other. We stop rushing through things. We find that detail that made us fall in love in the first place – friendship. We understand in a way that needs no words. We breathe and our chests rise and fall in a harmonious syncopation that reminds us that we fit together. We'd both stand here and would never let go if we could stop the passing of time.

The arrival of a Capitol attendant is what ultimately drives us apart. He sets a steaming ceramic jug and two mugs on the table. "I'm sorry to interrupt," he apologizes in a soft voice. "I brought you some hot milk. I know you've been having trouble sleeping and I just thought…"

"It's lovely," I voice, and he smiles meekly.

"I added just a touch of honey to the milk. For sweetness. And just a pinch of spice," he adds. The attendant looks at us like he wants to say more, but dismisses himself quickly.

"I think he feels bad for us," Peeta wonders aloud.

"Right," I say, pouring the milk.

"I mean it, Katniss. I don't think the people in the Capitol are very happy about our going back in," he replies. "Or the other victors. I think they're attached."

"I'm sure they'll get over it when the blood starts flowing," I say flatly. But then I look over my shoulder at the door, where the attendant left. I've been thinking about discontent in the districts, but I never thought about discontent in the Capitol. I wonder if the rebellion might find sympathizers. Activists. Spies. Peeta catches me staring at the door, and I shake my head.

"So," Peeta says, holding the Second Quarter Quell tape in his hand.

"We don't have to tell Haymitch we watched it," I offer, and Peeta nods his head and puts in the tape. We curl up on the couch and get lost in the 50th Hunger Games. I learn things I wish I didn't know. We see Maysilee Donner reaped.

"Oh!" I say. "She was my mother's friend. I didn't realize she was in Haymitch's Games."

"I think that's your mother there," Peeta points, and I know in an instant he's right. I see my mom at my age. No one exaggerated her beauty. She comforts Maysilee's sister, and it suddenly connects. My hand moves to my chest, but my Mockingjay pin is absent. Madge. Her aunt. Her mother in immobilizing pain. Isolation. The token.

We watch Haymitch reaped. The interviews. The Games. We learn that Haymitch made the Capitol look foolish, just like us. I realize immediately why his family was killed. I realize immediately how vulnerable Prim is. If anything, watching the tape has reinforced how important it is I don't leave the Arena. The best chance I have to save the people I love is to give them back their insignificance. No one needs to hurt Prim once I am gone. She's not bait for anyone but me.

"What are you thinking?" Peeta asks, studying my face. No wonder I've never seen these Games. The Capitol wouldn't show them being made a fool of over and over in syndication.

"It's almost as bad as the berries," I laugh. Peeta looks at me sideways, but I can't hold it in. I giggle hysterically, holding my sides. "Seriously, it's like we're all _trying_ to get ourselves killed," I cackle.

"Almost as bad, but not quite," Haymitch says from the doorway, and we both swing around. I finally feel like I understand who Haymitch is. A new confidence builds inside me. Surely, two people who have caused the Capitol so much hurt can figure out a way to get Peeta home alive. "Time for you kids to get to bed," he says, dismissing us from the room. Before I leave I see him bend down and collect the tapes from the floor.

We didn't sleep in my bed last night. I watch Peeta sleeping now – on his stomach, an arm draped over mine. Lying beside him, I realize one of us will be in this bed alone on the way home. I picture him here without me. I let myself evaporate into the air. I am certain Peeta won't leave my room until he arrives in 12. I wish I could leave some bit of me behind, something tangible for him to find and take comfort in. I reach into my pocket and dig out the smooth rock from the lake. The one I thought was pretty. The one I was embarrassed to pick up in front of Gale. I open my nightstand drawer, place it in the center, and close it slowly.

We arrive in the Capitol in the morning. In a way, I feel like I have to say goodbye to the train, too. It's become sort of like a surrogate home to me. Now that we are in the Capitol, the Quell feels like it really begins.

Haymitch is stalwart as we leave the train. The crowds scream and cheer our names, but Haymitch didn't give us any direction. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to smile and wave or show my discontent. I choose to follow his lead. I grip Peeta's hand and we push through the crowd stoically. This feels different than before, though. Yes, the crowd is shouting, but it is not the absurd drone we normally hear. It's almost manic, like they don't know how to process that they might lose us. Like for the first time, they almost feel what the districts feel – like they're surrendering their own for tribute. Capitol darlings in the Games. I realize they aren't cheering to see us fight. They're cheering _us_. They're here to support _us_.

I look up and catch the eye of a woman in the crowd. She looks ridiculous, like they all do. She's preened and primped like some exotic bird, with feathers for eye lashes and a nose sharp like a beak. But in her eyes I see sympathy. Loss. She stops clapping when she realizes I've met her gaze and we stare at each other. She mouths, "I'm sorry." Before I know what's happening, someone pulls my arm and the doors to the Tribute Center close behind me, shutting me away from the bird lady.

I look at Peeta. The last time we were in the Tribute Center, it felt haunted by ghosts. In our Games, the tributes mostly stayed in their rooms when they weren't at a prescheduled event, but here in the lobby, the victors are mingling. Laughter floats in the air. Hands are shaken, backs are patted, embraces are exchanged. These people all know each other.

Peeta and I are the outsiders. This isn't good.


	15. Chapter 15 - Parade

After my Games and a Tour, I thought I'd be used to prep sessions, but as my team rips every bit of body hair from my arms and legs, I realize this session will be more of an emotional ordeal than I am ready for. They each burst into tears at least twice. Octavia has a running whimper through the entire session. They seem to be entirely undone at the thought of losing me. I remember them coming to my room on the Tour, worried about me. I remember them painting Prim like a doll, making her smile and shine. I think back to the attendant on the train and I start to wonder – are the people here really upset about the Games? These people don't seem to have a problem watching children murdered every year. But as I watch my team blubber, as I think about the bird lady, as I taste warm milk and honey in my mouth, I start to think maybe this is bigger than I realized.

Comforting my team is exhausting though, and by the time I see Cinna, I'm drained.

"I swear if you cry, I'll kill you here and now," I threaten emptily.

Cinna just smiles. "Had a damp morning?" I roll my eyes. He wraps an arm around my shoulder and squeezes me tight. "Don't worry, I always channel my emotions into my work. That way the only person that gets hurt is me."

"I don't think I can do that again," I say wearily, staring back at my team as they blow their noses.

"I'll handle it," he promises, and we go to lunch. Peeta and I gorge ourselves. There is a fountain of melted chocolate and fruit for dessert, and we finish the pot, licking the bowl and earning a glare from Effie.

My prep teams waits for me upstairs, but Cinna dismisses them. As they open the door to leave I catch Peeta and Portia heading down the hall. Peeta is always a little more at ease after being with her. He spies a quick glimpse of me and waves as he passes my door.

The parade is tonight. Where last year Cinna left my face relatively normal, tonight he obscures it in sweeping dark lines. He contours my cheeks, shades my eyes. I catch myself in the mirror. I look fierce. Cinna braids my hair in an eccentric way until at last he pulls out my outfit. It's dark, long, fitted.

"Are we on fire again this year?" I ask.

"Sort of," he replies, and I dress. He zips the back up and places a crown of heavy black metal on my head. "Here's the trigger," he says as he points to a button inside my sleeve. He pulls the curtain so the room falls dark. "Try it out," he says.

"Is it safe in here?" I ask, and he nods with a smile on his face. I press the button and the dress comes to life. Instead of spitting flame, I glow like an ember. The crown on my head turns bright red, like steel being shaped by the hammer of a blacksmith. As I move the light shifts and churns. I am radiant. I'm not a little girl anymore. I'm not an unpredictable blaze. I smolder. I burn furiously. I am deadly.

"This is exactly what I needed to go out there," I breathe, and Cinna smiles. We shut off the dress, and I head down to meet Peeta at the Remake Center. The other tributes are broken into small groups, mingling and socializing with each other. I remember last year, when each child clung to their chariot like it was some kind of lifeline, refusing to even utter a word aloud. I don't know where Peeta is, and I don't know anyone. Instead I just stroke the neck of my horse and hope no one notices me.

It doesn't work.

"You're terrible at hiding. I don't know how you managed to survive your Games," Finnick Odair teases as he approaches. Is he flirting? I can't tell, and I shift uncomfortably. I know he's referencing when he caught me spying on him in 4, but I shake it off. "You won't be able to hide in the trees, this time. Everyone will be looking up."

"Finnick," I greet without any inflection in my voice. I don't want him to think he can provoke me. He inches in and I will my body to calm down, but I can feel my cheeks flush with fire. He's hardly wearing any clothes, with nothing more than a fishing net at his groin. He pops a sugar cube in his mouth and leans on my horse.

"Want one?" he asks, holding out a cube in his hand. I shake my head. "They're supposed to be for the horses, but who cares? They've got their whole lives to eat sugar, while you and I…" Finnick leans in closer to me, as if whispering a secret. I feel goosebumps rise on my body when his hot breath hits my neck. "If we see something sweet, we'd better take it."

"No thanks," I say dismissively, as if I'm not unnerved by him near me. As if I couldn't care less. "I'd love to borrow your outfit sometime, though," I add. He grins widely, clearly pleased with my repartee.

"You're absolutely terrifying in that getup," he notes, his eyes on my body. If I could shove him without being punished, I'd do it. _No fighting with your fellow tributes_. I breathe. "What happened to the pretty little girl dresses?"

"I outgrew them," I deadpan. Finnick's hand reaches for my collar, and he runs the fabric of my outfit between his fingers. He brushes my neck and I force myself not to gag.

"Too bad about the Quell, though. You could have made out like a bandit in the Capitol. Money, jewels, anything you wanted."

"I have enough money," I state as I stare at him. I can't see how he's part of the rebellion. He doesn't seem to care about anything more than his vapid lifestyle and how many lovers he can acquire. And I don't like the way he looks at me. Like he knows me.

"I haven't dealt with anything as petty as money in years," Finnick smiles at me, crunching the sugar between his teeth.

"Then however do people pay for the pleasure of your company?" I smile.

"With secrets," he whispers, leaning into me. "Got any secrets you wanna share with me, girl on fire?" His breath smells sweet.

"I'm an open book. Sometimes I feel like everyone else knows my secrets before I do," I state, my voice even. I don't look at him.

"Well, I'm afraid that's true," he replies, pulling away. He looks over his shoulder as Peeta approaches.

"Am I interrupting?" Peeta asks, weaving his fingers protectively in mine, although not looking overly concerned. "Finnick," he greets our guest.

"Peeta. You look… dry," Finnick replies, before he turns and walks away.

"What did he want?" Peeta asks.

"To know my secrets" I reply, in my best seductive Finnick impression. Peeta cracks a smile.

"Get in line," Peeta counters, eyes on mine. The music begins to blare overhead, and the horses stir as if on command. "Shall we?" Peeta says, and offers me a hand into the chariot.

"Cinna says we're supposed to be serious. No smiling," I whisper before the music overtakes my voice.

"That's what Portia said too. To act above it all," he answers. Finally, something I'm good at.

We watch as the chariots ahead of us pull away one by one. While the first few Career districts look strong, the whole spectacle is ludicrous. It's one thing to watch children paraded around, but adults in costume with outrageous headdresses and sagging, weary bodies – it looks absurd. When Peeta and I roll into the square – young, vibrant, burning – the crowd loses it. We are powerful. We are dark. We are unforgiving.

I feel the eyes of the people on us, and the other Victors as well. I lock my eyes in a ferocious stare. President Snow comes out and makes his speech, and maybe I'm wrong, but even he seems fixated on me. I look at him with vengeance in my eyes.

Peeta and I wait until the doors of the Training Center close behind us before we finally relax. The other Victors are lingering in the lobby, passing drinks between them and chatting cordially. I find Haymitch laughing with Chaff, and he waves us over. I approach with some hesitation.

"Katniss!" Chaff says. _Good to see you again_ , I'm about to say, but I swallow it quickly. I'm trying to come up with a new response, but before I can even think of appropriate words Chaff kisses me plain on the mouth. I am about to swing my arm to slap him when Peeta pulls my hand in his. I look at him sharply and he shakes his head no.

With Chaff is a woman I don't recognize. Tall, slender, dark hair with streaks of silver. Haymitch introduces her as Seeder, from District 11. She looks strong. Sharp. Her eyes are flecked with gold, and before I can say a word she wraps me in a tight embrace. She's a stranger, but I know it must be for Thresh and Rue. "The families?" I whisper.

I am not sure I want to know, but she says softly, "They're alive," before letting me go. I feel a tiny bit lighter. Capitol attendants begin firmly directing us toward the elevator. They aren't comfortable with the coziness between the tributes. The camaraderie. As we walk to the lift, my hand still linked with Peeta's, someone else rushes by. I catch a mouthful of leaves and find Johanna Mason in the elevator with us. She rolls her eyes at me.

"Isn't my costume awful? My stylist is the biggest idiot in the Capitol," she groans, unzipping the back of her jumpsuit. I find myself unconsciously pressing myself to the back of the elevator wall as she begins to strip the clothing from her body. Her entire costume drops to the floor, and she kicks it away in disgust. Haymitch grins wickedly. Peeta's eyes are wide. She spends the rest of the ride to the seventh floor casually chatting about Peeta's paintings while his still glowing-costumes reflects off her bare breasts. She exits at her floor, blowing us a kiss and promising to see us around. Chaff and Seeder get off at 11, and the moment the doors close Peeta breaks out laughing.

"What?" I say, turning on him as the elevator stops and we step onto our floor.

"It's you, Katniss. They're all trying to get you riled up," Haymitch adds, a smug grin on his face.

"What are you talking about?" I ask defensively.

"Finnick with the sugar. Chaff kissing you. Johanna. They're playing with you because you're so… you know," Peeta explains.

"No, I don't know," I shoot back.

"It's like when you couldn't look at me in the Arena. You're so pure," Peeta adds.

"Pure? I've been practically ripping your clothes off in front of any camera we can find for the last year!" I feel my voice raise, and Peeta realizes I'm upset.

"Pure for them. For me, you're perfect," he tries to mollify me, but I just bristle at his touch.

"They're laughing at me. And so are you two!" I turn away from them, fuming. Haymitch is still laughing and touches my shoulder, when I feel him tense next to me. His face grows hard.

"Ooo, looks like we got a matching set this year!" Effie chirps as she comes off the elevator, in the insensitive way that makes me wonder if you can ever really take the Capitol out of the woman. I don't understand, until I follow Haymitch's gaze across the room. Waiting by the table is the red-headed Avox girl from last year. I smile slightly. It's nice to have an almost-friend here. But then I realize what Effie is saying. _A matching set._ Beside the girl stands another Avox, hair just as fiery red. My stomach revolts, because I know him too.

I remember sharing stew with him on a cold autumn day. I remember him tickling my face with the bottom of my braid. I remember him lying unconscious on the ground as Gale bled into the snow.

Our new Avox is Darius.

I want to go to him. I want to tell him I'm sorry, but I'm as speechless as his torturers have left him. I try to hide my reaction, but you'd have to be stupid not to realize I'm having a quiet meltdown. Effie eyes me cautiously, and Haymitch shakes his head and grabs my wrist. Darius keeps his eyes glued to the floor. I can't pretend my way out of this. Darius is here for me. He's a present.

I twist my wrist free from Haymitch's grasp and run up the stairs, slamming my bedroom door closed. Breathe. Breathe. I said I was done crying over this, but my body shakes violently as I try to fight it away.

"Katniss?" Peeta knocks at my door. This isn't for Peeta, though. This is my pain. This is Gale's pain. And Haymitch's. I doubt he even recognized him. I doubt he even knows his name. "Katniss?" he calls again, and I ignore him. I don't come down for dinner. I lock my door and shower. I open my mouth under the running stream of water and gargle before I spit it down the drain. My nails trace the grout between the tile. I stay until my fingers are wrinkly and pruned. I remember telling Prim that if I were to ever murder anyone, I'd do it when my fingers were pruned so they wouldn't find any prints. She did not think it was funny. I imagine escaping across the Capitol. I wonder if my fingers would still be wrinkly by the time I reached Snow. If my fingers would still be pruned when I shoved my hand down his throat until he choked on my fist.

It's nearly two in the morning when I walk down to Peeta's room. His door is unlocked. When I enter, he is sitting by the window, watching the city still awake and alive below him. The door clicks closed, and he turns to face me, his expression full of relief.

"I came to get you," he whispers.

"I know," I say, walking toward the window.

"You locked me out," he replies, his voice hushed.

"I know," I say again, reaching him.

"Katniss," he starts, but I sit next to him and he stops.

"I could live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve you," I answer quietly.

"I'm not asking you to live a thousand. I'm asking you to live one," he replies back, his voice breaking. I lean back against the window, and we both sit there silently.


	16. Chapter 16 - Tributes

Tongues are featured prominently in my dreams that night. I watch as Darius's mouth is carefully dissected. I'm at a party where Finnick stalks me around the room, his wet tongue lapping at my skin. Snow's tongue flicking out of his mouth like a serpent. I wake panting, heaving, and Peeta pulls me into him. I pull myself out of bed and gulp water directly from the faucet. I strip off my sweat-soaked clothes, and Peeta brings me a t-shirt. We camp out on the bathroom floor for a while before going back to bed.

When morning comes, I delay going to breakfast. Peeta and I are not really okay, despite him comforting me in the night. He's hurt and angry with me, and frustrated about last night. I can't really blame him. We have such little time left together, and I wasted hours behind a locked door, pushing him away.

"We should really go downstairs," he states, making no effort to move from the bed. We're supposed to talk game plan with Haymitch this morning.

"What's the point? We all already know what each other can do. There is no strategy this year other than stay alive for as long as possible," I mutter. A banging on the door shoots us both upright. Haymitch is clearly fed up and ordering us both to the dining room NOW.

I get out of bed. Peeta heads right down, but I waste another ten or fifteen minutes brushing my teeth and dressing slowly, decisively, as if I actually care what I wear today. By the time I get to the dining room, it's entirely empty except for Peeta and Haymitch, whose face is flushed with anger. On his wrist is a solid gold bangle, and Effie is nowhere in sight. He must have made some concession to her, although from the way he's acting it seems more like a shackle than a piece of jewelry.

Haymitch seems ready to snap at me, but when he views the bags under my eyes he relents some. I assume Peeta told him I was up half the night screaming.

"Look, you have two jobs in training today. First, stay in love. Second, make some friends," Haymitch orders.

"No. We already discussed this. I don't want any allies in the Arena," I assert.

"Katniss, that's what I thought too, but Haymitch and I were talking and –" Peeta starts, but I ignore him.

"And no more talking unless it's all three of us. I don't like you two plotting behind my back." I shift in my seat. I worry that Haymitch has played us both, and I'm not sure which one of us he's lying to.

"Well then show up on time," Haymitch grumbles, pouring himself another coffee. "Look, sweetheart. These people all know each other. They trust each other. You two are the outsiders. You are the ones with targets on your backs."

"Nothing we can say in the next couple of days is going to override years of friendship between these people, Haymitch. Why even bother?" I say sullenly.

"Because you have something they want. You can fight. You're popular with the crowd. You'll have sponsors. There are reasons to want to become allies," Haymitch adds.

I stare at my hands. "You mean you want us in the Career pack this year," I say with patent disgust. I picture the tributes from 1, 2, and 4."You want us in with Brutus and Finnick." I can barely stomach their names.

"Everyone is a victor this year, Katniss. We could make our own pack. Pick who we like," Peeta says. They are ganging up on me.

"Chaff and Seeder and both interested. And Finnick's not to be ignored," Haymitch chimes in. "Look, you aren't in an Arena of trembling, scared children this year. Every single one of these people is an experienced killer. Don't let appearances fool you. You need someone to have your back, even if it's only until the herd thins out."

 _Herd_. Like we're not even human anymore. Like we are a pack of animals up for slaughter. I want to snap at him, but in a way he's right. I know, once the gong has gone off, I'll need to put my humanity aside if I want to save Peeta.

"Fine," I say coldly. Effie arrives to escort us down to training, but Haymitch immediately rejects her.

"That's my job, Haymitch!" Effie writhes. Whatever fight they had earlier has not been settled.

"I don't want you running them around the Tribute Center like they need a mommy. If we want everyone to stop thinking of them as children, then we need to stop thinking of them that way, too," he snaps at her.

"You may be able to influence what I say or what I do, but you don't get to tell me what I am and am not allowed to think!" Effie bites right back.

"We're fine, Effie," Peeta says soothingly. She looks at him and is somewhat pacified, although she shoots another heinous look at Haymitch before leading us to the elevator. She preens us like a mother bird, straightening a piece of Peeta's hair before she turns away sharply at the door opening. The elevator door closes between us, and I am not sure who I feel worse for – Effie or Haymitch.

"I guess everyone is fighting this morning," I say.

The doors open and Peeta takes my hand. It feels forced, but I don't pull away. Maybe I ignored him last night in private, but in training we must appear as an inseparable team. For all Effie's fretting about our tardiness, the training room is practically empty. Across the room I see Brutus chatting with the razor-fanged woman from 2. By ten maybe half of the tributes have shown up.

"I think we should split up," I say, releasing his hand. "We'll cover more ground. Meet more people." Plus, Peeta's more charming than I am. If negotiating allies is up to Peeta, everyone will want us before lunch. I tend to scowl and make people not like me.

"Okay," he replies, and crosses the room to throw spears with Brutus and Chaff. I isolate myself at the knot-tying station. The trainer obviously remembers my snares from last year, and he moves on to show me some advanced knots. I could spend all day learning from him. I struggle with a particularly complicated knot for about half an hour when I feel someone put their arms around me from behind, fingers easily fixing and then finishing the loop. I turn around to find Finnick, who clearly spent his childhood tying complex knots into fishing nets.

"Don't feel bad, I didn't master that knot until I was at least 6 or 7," Finnick teases as he ties a length of rope into a noose and pretends to hang himself for my enjoyment. I roll my eyes. "Hey! Come on, Girl on Fire. What do I need to do to get a smile out of you?"

"Die in the bloodbath so there's one less person I need to kill," I reply coldly, and push past him. So much for making friends.

I go to a station on how to make fires and try to lose myself. Seeing as how I'm pretty good already with matches, the trainer shows me how to make a spark with flint. I play around with this for a while, and watch as the two tributes from District 3 struggle with the most basic skills. I think about leaving, but seeing as Haymitch and Peeta are expecting me to play nice, I instead scoot closer to them. The woman mutters to herself incoherently as the man adjusts his glasses.

"Here, like this," I show them, and soon their fire is blazing. We make idle talk for a bit. Wiress and Beetee are both inventors. It's immediately apparent they are very bright. Most of their dialogue goes over my head, although they find one another entertaining. I look out across the room and see Johanna oiling her nude body in preparation for a wrestling match. I decide to stay put. We chat about supply shortages and problems in production. From the veiled conversation I gather there's at least some unrest in 3, maybe even a full uprising. I want to ask more, but Wiress is staring up at the Gamemakers with an unknowable look on her face.

"Chink," she whispers before we are back to nonsensical language. Beetee catches me staring at her and gestures with his head to the Gamemakers again.

"They've put up a forcefield," he says under his breath, while he pretends to drill the anchor of a tent into the ground. I try to see what they are seeing. I sharpen my gaze. "Don't gawk," Beetee says quietly, and I pull my eyes to his hands.

"How can you tell?" I ask.

"In the corner, by the table," he says, and I lift my gaze more subtly this time. I see what they do, a patch not quite like the rest, a small square that seems more like the glass of an aquarium wall than invisible. "A chink in the armor," Beetee adds.

"Chink!" Wiress says again. She's more clever than I give her credit for.

"Probably my fault. I shot an arrow at them last year," I confide with a smile.

"You what?" Beetee replies with a grin that matches mine. Before I can answer, though, we are dismissed for lunch. I stand up and find Peeta across the room, chatting with the other victors. I decide to eat with the District 3 victors. Maybe I'll ask Seeder to join us. Clearly the Peeta and his gang have other ideas. They noisily drag the tables together and I feel a pit open in my stomach. Peeta laughs and acts genuinely interested in these people. Typical – Peeta popular and smiling, surrounded by a group of friends, and me scowling and scornful off in a corner, hoping to hide by myself. I wish Madge were here. Really, it's a wonder Peeta noticed me at all.

I make my way to the food and Peeta joins my side.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey," I reply, keeping my eyes on the food.

"How's it going?" he asks, grabbing a tray for himself.

"Good. I like District 3," I reply. He'll be proud of me. I made friends. Sort of.

"Really? They're kind of a joke to the others," Peeta asks.

"Of course they are," I grumble under my breath.

"Johanna calls them Nuts and Volts," he replies.

"Oh, well if _Johanna_ says so," I say bitterly.

"I didn't mean anything by it, Katniss. I'm just sharing information." He tries to reach for me, but I take another step down the line. "Well, I like Seeder and Chaff." I look over my shoulder at them. I like Seeder. I guess. I frown and look back at my tray.

"I wish it was just us," I whisper.

"Come eat with everyone," he replies quietly. I shrug my shoulders and follow him to the table. I try to be social. Everyone seems normal. I don't want to get to know these people. It's just going to make everything that much worse.

After lunch I spend time with the District 8 victors learning about edible insects. I meet Mags, the elderly woman from Finnick's district. She talks in a garbled District 4 accent and I hardly understand her, but she has a kind face.

"I saw what you did, volunteering for that girl," I say. She smiles and holds my hand tight. We both came to the Games to save someone else. "Prim was my sister," I reply, but she doesn't think that lessens the act any. We make fish hooks, and soon I'm tuning out the trainer and just watching what Mags does with her informed fingers.

Great. Now I can go back and tell Haymitch I want to be partnered with the geriatric, Nuts, and Volts.

I'm tired of putting on a show for people. I see a bow and arrow leaning on the weapons table, and I walk over. I slide my hands over the limb. Unlike my bow at home, which my father crafted of wood from the forest, this bow is made of aluminum. Light. Cold to the touch. Pliable, yet strong. It makes my heart skip to a familiar beat. Exhilaration. I lift the bow into my hands and head into the training room. The weaponry instructor doesn't bother giving me any tips. He saw my Games. Instead, he starts tossing bags of sand and seed and saw dust in the air, and I pierce each one with ease. Assessing my skill, he starts to throw multiple in the air at a time. Two other trainers join and the room fills with targets. What began as simple target practice has turned into a game of skill. The trainers engage, throwing bags at me to avoid, others to attack, others to distract. When I pin two targets with one arrow, the men stop, panting and gasping for air. It's then that I realize the room is totally silent. I turn around and find the other victors lined along the glass wall, staring at me.

Intimidated. Impressed. Threatened.

Peeta and I head back to our room. We have an hour before dinner. My body is sore from rolling and dodging targets, so I head up to shower. Peeta sits on the floor of the bathroom. We don't have anything to say, but we don't want to be apart either. I dry off, wrap my body in a towel, and join him on the floor.

"I'm okay with Seeder," I say. He nods his head. "Peeta, about last night. I – "

Peeta crashes his mouth into mine. It's feverish. He is commanding, pulling me into his lap, burying his fingers in my hair and tugging at the roots. My body immediately reacts. I like him like this – strong, in control. For a second, I forget that our world is spiraling into chaos. I kept myself from him last night, so I give myself to him now. He pulls at the towel and it falls away from my body. The room is still muggy with steam from the shower. I feel him bulging in his pants underneath me, and I push down into him. He groans and bucks his hips up in response. I bite my lip and whimper, and he follows my cue and repeats the motion. This time I moan.

He leans forward and takes one of my nipples for his own. I feel his tongue, gentle at first then rough and demanding. He's still dressed underneath me, but I am completely naked and blush as he runs his eyes all over my body. It's utterly exhilarating.

His hips still somewhat as he gulps for air. I lock my eyes with his and he watches my face as I start to stimulate myself against him. A sigh gets trapped in my throat and comes out as a hum. Peeta's breathing grows ragged, his eyes wide and glued to mine with a dark intensity. I keep up the pace, and we are both panting and begging and clinging to each other. I'm getting myself off, but it's him that is hard between my legs.

"I want you," I beg softly, and he shuts me up with his mouth. His hands slide up my back and one knots itself in my hair. He pushes himself up from his seated position to his knees, taking me with him. He leans forward and takes the advantage, laying me in front of him before dropping on top of me. He resumes pressing himself into me. He buries his face in my neck and we both find ourselves breathing together in rhythm with our hips. "I want you," I beg again, and he responds by increasing the speed. My eyes roll into the back of my head. "Peeta," I plead. "I want you."

"I can't," he breathes into my throat. I feel his lips on my skin. I'm not sure what that means.

"Peeta," I exhale, and it sounds like a mix of comfort and a question.

"If we do that, it will mean goodbye. That's not what I wanted it to be when we…" Peeta stops. He's right, though. It will be us saying goodbye to one another. "I know one of us is going to die in there, Kat, but I can't do goodbye with you."

"We have to eventually," I murmur.

"Eventually isn't yet." I know what he's doing. If we say goodbye, then I'll have a free pass to get myself killed in the Arena. He knows I won't want to go without saying goodbye, and that if those words are still on my lips I won't give up so easy. He's not giving me an out. Peeta sits up, reaches for the towel, and wraps it around my body. "We should go downstairs. I'm sure they're waiting for us." He walks out of the bathroom, and I'm left lying on the floor.

It takes me a long time before I can peel myself up. I don't want to move. I don't want to do any of this. I want to go home.


	17. Chapter 17 - Scores

I don't go down for dinner. Peeta brings me a plate of food, which I pick at some before we go to bed. Neither of us really sleeps.

At breakfast the next morning, Haymitch tells us at least half the victors have expressed interest in allying with us. "It can't be your sunny personality," he quips as I push my eggs around my plate.

"They saw her shoot," Peeta says. "Honestly, I saw her shoot, for real, for the first time."

"You're that good?" Haymitch asks, an eyebrow raised. "So good even Brutus wants you?"

"I don't want Brutus," I grumble. "I want Mags. And District 3."

"Of course you do," Haymitch retorts with exacerbation. "I'll tell them you're still making up your mind."

We occupy the morning training. At some point, I spend time with all the victors. Some I don't hate. Some I might even like. Some are so vulnerable I have to bury my natural instinct to protect them. Why did Haymitch have us get to know them? It makes it all so much worse.

We have our medical appointments before lunch. It's laughable to pretend they are for our own good. The appointments are to keep our bodies "performance ready." Peeta told me the men have their faces lasered to prevent unseemly hair growth in the Arena. Finnick doesn't have to go. Apparently he had some kind of permanent procedure done in the Capitol. I roll my eyes, but I get a weird sense from him that maybe it wasn't what he wanted. I dismiss it. I don't have time to worry about Finnick Odair. The women are given shots to stop their menstruation cycle. I just barely started mine again a couple months ago. I fantasize about taking the needle and jamming it in the doctor's eye, but instead I just sit still until they finish.

In the afternoon, the tributes have their private sessions with the Gamemakers. Being from 12, Peeta and I are last. None of the victors take it seriously. We've all been in the Games already. The Gamemakers know our skills. There's nothing we can show them that they haven't already seen. Chaff says he's going to tell jokes. Glimmer says she's going to pick her nose. I give her a double take. She's beautiful, stunning really. And she's an adult woman. The joke is so juvenile and out of place coming from her mouth that I laugh out loud. Everyone looks over to me, and I just keep giggling, tears streaming down my cheeks. I see Finnick grin, and he starts to chuckle as well. Soon we are all laughing and it feels like a misplaced happy moment between friends until a guard comes over and calls the first tribute. Then things get very suddenly serious. Silent.

The room slowly empties until it's just Peeta and me. I weave my hand in his and he squeezes it tight.

"What are you going to do in there?" I ask cheerlessly.

"I don't know. You?" he replies.

"I'll probably just shoot some stuff," I mumble. We sit in silence, but my legs bounce until I blurt out, "How are we going to kill these people, Peeta?"

"I don't know," he says, and leans his forehead on our entwined hands. "I don't want to be in there with anyone else. Just you."

"Me too."

Peeta is escorted inside. He's gone for a while, much longer than the standard time. I try not to panic. The room that was once crowded with people now feels substantial and empty. All of them, or all of _us_ rather, will be dead in a few short days. I sometimes forget to count myself among the deceased. I imagine myself, I imagine all of us, packed into wooden boxes. Buried in the earth where it's finally quiet. An old song my dad used to sing creeps into my head. _And I am here, though soft you tread above me._ I hope my mom buries me next to my dad. I close my eyes, and we become ghosts before we've even had our last breath.

Over the monitor, I hear my name called, and a guard comes and escorts me to the designated room. When I go in, the sharp and potent smell of cleaner invades my nose. An area in the center of the floor is haphazardly covered with a rug. _Peeta, what did you do?_ A pit overwhelms my stomach. I'm supposed to be the one drawing fire from the Gamemakers, not Peeta. As soon as the guards leave, I drop to my knees and pull back the carpet. Though it's been smudged and ruined with bleach, I can still clearly see what was there.

Rue. Eyes closed. Surrounded by flowers. I look up at the Gamemakers, although they seem to intentionally be ignoring me. He made them own it, if only for one second. He made them own killing a child. I know what I'm going to do.

I walk over to the sparring area and rip a dummy down from its chain. Its body is white and glossy, almost like a Peacekeeper's uniform. I remember the spatter of Peeta's blood on their pristine white shoes. I drag the mannequin unceremoniously across the floor until I reach the camouflage station. Peeta's left it a mess, but I find some black dye and dip my finger in the jar. I paint his beard as I remember it – distinctive, outlandish, dark as coal. I locate some red and smear words across the chest. I find a rope and tie the slipknot Finnick showed me. I wrap the noose around his neck and string the dummy up, hoisting him high into the air. The wet, crimson paint on his chest drips, and it almost looks like he's bleeding. As if the words were carved into flesh.

I see the Gamemakers faces turn white as they realize what they are seeing. One screams. Another drops his glass, which shatters in a thousand pieces on the floor. The words are angry. Meaningful. Intentional. _Seneca Crane_.

Plutarch looks at me, jaw locked, and I bow and turn to leave without being dismissed. At the last moment I can't resist tossing the jar of berry-based dye over my shoulder, and it explodes on the floor.

When I get back to our suite, no one is there. I go to Peeta's door and hear the shower running, so I head to my room to do the same. I try and smudge away the dye from my fingers, but it doesn't really come off. I imagine Octavia's face when she sees my nails stained murky black. I chuckle a bit to myself.

At dinner, soup is served. Peeta is late, and apologizes to Effie as he takes a seat next to mine. His fingers are still fainting tinged in purple and green. He looks at me, his eyes tired.

"So, how did everything go today with your sessions?" Effie chirps before sipping some champagne.

"Fine," Peeta says.

"Do tell! We're all dying to know." Effie pushes. She loves that phrase. _Dying to know. Dying to see. Dying to read._ It's harder to swallow when for you personally, it's not figurative anymore.

"I did a painting," Peeta tells his soup. Under the table I squeeze his leg.

"Like camouflage?" Portia asks.

"No. I painted Rue, how she looked when Katniss covered her with flowers," Peeta says, finally raising his eyes. The table is silent.

"Why would you do that?" Haymitch asks, his voice measured.

"I wanted them to acknowledge what they'd done, even if it was just for a moment. They killed that little girl," Peeta says coldly. He turns to me, softer. "Did you see it?"

"Sort of. They tried to clean it up, but I knew what it was," I reply, my voice kind. The rest of the table is churning. Peeta directly insulted the Gamemakers. He flaunted his judgement on them. It's treasonous.

"Peeta…" Portia sighs, her voice quiet.

"What? Are they going to punish me? They already are putting me back in the Games," he protests. His act of defiance wasn't public. It won't help the rebellion. No one will know. But Peeta will. I will. The Gamemakers will. It's our own quiet disobedience.

"Well, this is probably a bad time to mention I hung a dummy by the neck and painted Seneca Crane's name on it," I say nonchalantly before drinking some water.

Whatever panic the table was trying to hold back before, it erupts. They are all talking over themselves. Haymitch pushes himself away from the table and runs his hands through his hair, pulling at it in frustration.

"You… hung… Seneca Crane?" Cinna asks slowly, still struggling in disbelief.

"Yup," I reply, ripping off a bite of bread with my teeth. "What? I was showing off my new knot tying skills," I say with a smug grin and a mouth full of food.

"You'd have thought we planned it," Peeta says with the hint of a smile.

"Didn't you?" replies Portia, pressing her fingers into her temples to try and soothe away the headache taking root.

"Peeta's right. We're both as good as dead in there anyway," I reply, tilting back in my chair carelessly, as if we're talking about the weather and not our imminent deaths. I catch Effie's face and drop my chair back down. She is heartbroken. My cheeks suddenly burn for acting so cavalier about it all. Our deaths won't just impact us. It will destroy these people. I'm so stupid sometimes. "At least this way, they know they didn't break us. They know they didn't change us." Peeta takes my hand under the table. Cinna leans over and kisses my head. They hate it, but they understand. "And Haymitch, we've decided we don't want any other allies in the Arena."

"Good. Then I won't be responsible for you killing off any of my friends with your stupidity," he says under his breath before kicking his chair out and sitting back down.

The rest of the meal is silent. When we rise to go to the sitting room, Portia wraps her arm around Peeta's shoulder. "Come on, let's go get those training scores."

We gather around the television. A red-eyed Effie joins us, but stands behind the group. She's trying to hide in plain sight. The scores flash on screen.

"Have they ever given a zero?" I ask.

"No, but there's a first time for everything," Cinna replies, wrapping my hands in his.

Peeta and I are shocked when we each pull a 12. No one in the history of the Games has ever been given a 12. I'm confused. I can't make sense of it.

"Why would they do that?" Peeta asks.

"So the others have no choice but to target you," Haymitch says, his voice flat. "Go to bed. I can't stand to look at either one of you."

Peeta and I retreat upstairs, but we don't go to our rooms. We linger outside my door. I don't know what we're waiting for. Peeta's gaze drops to my braid, and his fingers find themselves tugging at it slightly, but I look beyond him. I can hear Haymitch.

"Shh," I hush Peeta, and I creep to the top of the stairs. I don't know what I'm hoping to hear. The penthouse is bugged, it's not like they can say anything relevant. But my curiosity piques. Haymitch and Cinna are the only two left downstairs, and their voices barely carry.

"I'm not sure how we are supposed to protect them in there with no allies," Cinna says with defeat.

"I know. Chaff says he'll watch over them from a distance if he can," Haymitch replies.

"That's not enough," Cinna says. "That was our backup plan. A fail safe. Who knows how long Chaff can even survive if he's alone."

"We can't force them to take allies," Haymitch rebuts.

"We could –" Cinna starts, but cuts himself off. He was about to talk about the thing we all can't talk about. He wants the rebellion to do something.

"They've already given up," Haymitch shrugs, dropping to the couch. "It's infuriating trying to keep those two kids alive when they are both going into the Arena with a death wish. If either one is given the opportunity to sacrifice themselves for the other before…" Haymitch stops. Before? Before what? "We'll lose them. She won't hesitate if it means saving the boy. And neither will he."

I look at Peeta. There is something else going on here. Is there? His brow furrows. He's just as confused as I am.

Cinna and Haymitch talk for a while about sponsor strategy. Peeta and I finally sneak away. Whatever it is they are trying to pull, a stylist and a mentor can't take down the entire institution of the Games with only days.

"What do you think that was all about?" Peeta asks.

"I think they're grasping at straws. They're not ready to let go," I reply.

"And you are?" he returns.

I'm silent. Peeta just shifts on his feet.

"I'm sorry if I made things worse," I say quietly.

"No worse than I did," he offers.

"I just wanted to show them that I'm more than just a piece in their Games," I say, and he smiles, remembering when he said something very similar the night before our Games. I hadn't understood what he meant at the time, but I do now. "I don't think either of us are going to get what we want."

He nods, knowing what I mean. Snow has no intention of either of us getting out of the Arena alive. The Gamemakers have probably been given direct orders to eliminate us as soon as possible.

"Even if that happens, at least everyone will know we've gone out fighting, right?" Peeta asks.

"Everyone will." Even though I've shut out thoughts of the rebellion since arriving in the Capitol, I distance myself from my personal tragedy. I remember the old man in 11, the pop of the gun, his eyes on mine. I remember the faces of the families. I remember Rue's laugh. I remember the fear potent in the air as Thread lashed Gale to bits in front of our people. Everyone will be watching us. Waiting to see how we handle our execution. I intend on making it clear that I will defy the Capitol until I no longer breathe. In the end, they won't kill the spirit that chose the berries over the rules. That chose love over hate. That chose family. That chose strength. I'll be better as a martyr. My sister will be alive and safe. My death will offer something to rally around. Peeta is and always will be more valuable alive. He will turn his pain into words that transform people. It's better for Panem that he lives. I've been trying for months to make me think of us as an _us_ , but now I need to extricate him from myself. Being attached to me is a death sentence.

I can see him reading my face, and I need to shift directions before he loses it.

"So, what should we do with our last few days?" I ask.

"I just want to spend every moment of the rest of my life with you," he sighs.

"Come on then," I say, pulling him into my room.

We do simple things, routine things that bring us comfort. We brush our teeth. I braid my hair. We talk about easy topics, use useless words. He sits up in bed, I lay my head in his lap. After a while he leans forward and kisses me. It's upside-down, his lips are not where I've come to know them to be. It's almost like kissing him for the first time, not knowing what goes where, and I feel tears burn in my eyes.

"Damn it," I sob, pulling back. I said no more crying over this. I sit up in bed. Peeta reaches out to me, but I know I'll lose all ability to hold it together if he touches me. I stand, pacing for a second. Breathing. Pace. Breathe. Pace. Control. Pace. Breathe.

"Katniss," he tries speaking to me, but I ignore him. Pace. Pace. "Katniss." Peeta stands and steps in front of me, interrupting my steps.

"I was counting," I fluster out. "If I die tomorrow, twenty will still come after nineteen. That won't change. Most things won't change."

"No dying tomorrow," he whispers, cupping my face. He means it literally. We still have days. For some reason, it makes me laugh. I still have days.

"No dying until at least Friday," I titter.

"At least," he says, pressing his mouth to my cheek. I pull everything about him closer to me. I kink my hands in his hair. I tug at his ears, I pull at his shirt. "Closer," I implore, pulling at his shirt. He lifts the hem of my shirt and his, until I can feel his skin on me. My breathing slows, and we rock.

"What's your favorite thing to bake?" I ask softly.

"Cinnamon rolls," he replies, his lips on my hair. "When is Prim's birthday?"

"August fourth," I answer. And so we spend the night committing one another to memory.


	18. Chapter 18 - Doors

Peeta and I are still sleeping when there's a quiet knock on my door. Most of our team would just barge in, so I wrap a sheet from the bed around my body and pad over to the door to find the redheaded Avox girl is standing on the other side. She has a sweet face. Demure, almost. I wonder what she could have possibly done to deserve having her tongue cut out. I immediately cringe at the thought. _Deserve_. No one _deserves_ to get their tongue cut out. She hands me a folded piece of paper and gives me a small smile before retreating down the hall. I watch her as she walks away.

I close the door silently and slip back into the room.

"Who was it?" Peeta asks drowsily, and forces himself to sit up when he sees me reading the note.

"It's from Effie. She says given our recent Tour, she and Haymitch both think we know how to handle ourselves adequately in public. Coaching sessions today have been cancelled," I relay.

"Really?" Peeta asks, taking the note from my hand and examining it. "Do you know what this means? We have the whole day to ourselves!" He's grinning widely. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me back in to bed, laughing.

"It's too bad we can't go somewhere," I say wistfully.

"Who says we can't?" he asks.

The roof. We order an obscene amount of food, grab some blankets, and head up to the roof for a daylong picnic. We've made a rule. No talking about the Games, or death, or the rebellion, or goodbyes that we aren't ready for. We are giving ourselves this one last day. We smile freely. We kiss until we're out of breath. We let the sun warm our skin and eat tart grapes that pop in our mouths. We drink wine until our lips are stained purple. We listen to the wind chimes and I make up songs that don't go at all. Peeta sketches in his notebook. We play a game with the force field where one of us tosses an apple over and the other tries to catch it. By late afternoon I'm lying on the rooftop, my head in his lap, Peeta's hands lost in my hair. After a while, his fingers go still.

"What?" I ask.

"I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever," he says.

"Okay," I sigh, my eyes dropping closed. I hear the smile in his voice.

"Then you'll allow it?"

"I'll allow it," I reply. His fingers go back to my hair, but I doze off. Unlike our nights, which have been plagued with one or both of us waking to nightmares, I actually sleep peacefully for a while. When Peeta squeezes my shoulders, I wake up to a stunning sunset. It's almost like it consumes the entire skyline. Oranges and pinks stretch. Twenty will come after nineteen once I'm dead. The sun will still rise and set.

"I thought you'd want to see this," Peeta whispers. I nod. I only have so many sunsets left. Peeta wraps his arms around me, pressing his chest to my back and resting his chin on my shoulder. We don't go down for dinner, and no one summons us. "I'm glad, really," Peeta says as he cleans up our plates. "I'm tired of making everyone around us so miserable. There's just so much crying, and Haymitch…" He's still for a minute. "I know we said no talking about stuff, but whichever one of us is left needs to take care of him."

I simply nod. I'm sure these Games will wreck what little Haymitch has been able to hold onto over the years. He'll drink himself to oblivion, until either his liver gives out or he has an accident. It's like a slow form of suicide.

It gets dark, and without the sun the temperature cools significantly. Every bit of my skin prickles with chill. I feel exposed in nothing but a light sundress and I catch Peeta's gaze on me. We walk downstairs, but I feel like every particle of air between us is humming. Outside my door, Peeta eyes trace my neck. He wets his lips, and I shift under his gaze. It's like there's an invisible barrier between us. We know if we start tonight, we're not going to be able to stop. His eyes meet mine, his hand ghosting my hip. We wait wait. We wait. We slam back against my door. I wrap my legs around his waist and he's kissing me like he's never kissed me before, like he'll never kiss me like this again. I'm pulling at his clothes, fumbling with his belt and zipper. He hitches up my skirt and I moan.

"Open the door," he groans into my neck, and I drop my hand and turn the knob. We take two steps forward and I drop my feet to the ground. We're kissing and pulling and nothing is enough, nothing is ever enough.

"I have to get something in my room," he whispers between sigh and gasps.

"Now?" I plead, sliding my hand over him and feeling his knees buckle in response.

"Oh my god. Yes. Now," he pants and I realize what he means.

"Just hurry up," I say, dropping my hands. He grins at me in a way that I haven't seen since before the card. He grabs both sides of my face with his hands and kisses me.

"I'll be right back," he promises, and rushes down the hall. My door clicks shut behind him and my stomach flits. I'm nervous. I'm very nervous. But it's completely overshadowed by want. I look at myself in the mirror quickly. I run my fingers through my hair. My lips are swollen, my eyes bright. I look different. Older. I step back out of the bathroom and stare at the door. I can feel my heart hammering in my chest, slamming harder when I inhale.

As the moments creep by, though, the thrill of anticipation starts to ebb. He's been gone longer than he should have been. I slowly step toward the door, but I already know. I turn the handle and find it locked. I want to react. I want to scream and slam my hands against the door, but I refuse to give Snow the satisfaction. Instead I fume. I pace. But mostly, I don't sleep.

By morning, my body aches from the tension. I shower. I check the door a few times, but it doesn't give. It's not until my prep team enters that I know I've been released. Octavia's chin remains unusually stiff, and their normal chatter is suspended. I realize they are all trying not to cry. There's little talk at all as we all go through the motions together getting ready. After about an hour, Peeta shows up at my door. His prep team must have just arrived.

"Hey," I say, my voice coming out higher than I mean it to.

"Hey," he replies. "Do you guys think you could give us a minute?" Peeta asks my team, and they silently dismiss themselves, although I can hear them right outside the door, eavesdropping. "I'm so sorry," Peeta says. I can't really move in my state of mid-prep, so he drops to his knees in front of me and rests his head in my lap. Octavia has only shaped and buffed my nails so far, so I scratch his scalp lightly through his hair. "I can't believe we lost a night," he whispers.

"I know," I whisper back.

"Katniss, I had an idea last night for my interview that I need to run by you. When I was thinking about what happened, and why…" There's a quick knock on the door and Octavia peeks her head in. The second she sees Peeta at my feet, though, she bursts into tears. Venia scolds her and I hear Octavia's sharp heels as she clicks down the hall. Peeta pushes himself up off the floor. "Sorry," he whispers, and heads back to his room.

Flavius and Venia work diligently for hours. Interviews are tonight, and my outfit must be a spectacle, because they are putting an extraordinary effort into getting me ready. Flavius's hands start to shake, and he calmly places the scissors on the tray. I look up and see he's silently crying before he steps out of the room. And then it's just me and Venia. Her nimble hands work quickly, finishing the tasks the others left undone. She's formidable in her concentration. I've always thought of Venia as the flightiest of my team, but in this moment, she's channeling herself into her work. She finishes my nails and hair, compensating for her absent teammates while avoiding my gaze. When Cinna finally arrives to approve her work, she takes my hands.

"We would all like you to know what a privilege it's been to make you look your best," she says as though she practiced it all morning in the mirror. I want to hug her, which is an abnormal impulse for me, but she hastens her way from the room.

My foolish, flighty prep team nearly breaks my heart in farewell. They know I'm not returning. Everyone knows I'm not returning.

"So, what am I wearing tonight?" I try to make the conversation light. The garment bag in Cinna's arms is enormous.

"President Snow put in the order for the dress himself," Cinna says. He unzips the bag and reveals one of the wedding dresses I wore back home, covered in pearls. "Even though they announced the Quarter Quell the night of the shoot, people still voted for their favorite. The President said you were to wear it tonight. My objections were ignored."

I run my fingers over the dress. He wants to humiliate me. He wants to show Panem what I lost. He wants my wedding dress to be a shroud. I feel a dull ache in my chest, one that took residence the second the door locked last night and has stayed since. "Well, it would be a shame to waste such a pretty dress."

I've learned there are special, structured undergarments that go under certain types of gowns, and Cinna helps me into mine. When he slides the dress onto my body, the weight is palpable. "Was it always this heavy? " I ask as he buttons up my back.

"I had to make a few adjustments for the stage lighting," he offers, although it explains little. I walk for him and he smiles. For a minute, it makes me miss my dad. "The bodice is fitted, so don't raise your arms over your head until you spin," he adds, making some quick alterations.

"Am I spinning this year?" I ask.

"Yes, I'm sure Caesar will ask. And if he doesn't, suggest it. Only not until the end. Save it for your big finale," Cinna tells me, squeezing my hand.

"You give me a signal so I know when," I say. He agrees.

"Katniss," Cinna starts, and takes my hand in his. "You mean something to people. Remember that tonight. You mean something to people. You mean something to me." He holds me for a minute before applying the final touches to my makeup and hair.

There's a quiet knock at the door.

"Come in," I call, and Peeta enters wearing a tuxedo. I'm sure this is Capitol-wedding attire for men. He closes the door behind him, and when he turns to look at me his eyes cloud.

"Oh," he barely breathes as he takes me in. I can see his heart breaking. I can feel it. It is tangible. My body takes over reacting, because my mind is shutting down. My skin burns, my lungs resist air. I feel hot and cold at the same time. I can tell Peeta is trying to regain some control. "Portia told me what you were wearing. I didn't think it would be this hard."

I think back to him on stage before he proposed. Nervous. His hands shaking slightly. _This isn't real_ , I told him. _You don't have to be nervous right now. You can be nervous when we do this for real._ We both knew this wedding wasn't real. But it's a symbol of what we won't have later. I won't wear my mom's white dress with the lace at the collar. We won't kneel in front of a fire together. There will be no promises between us, other than those we've already made. There will be no more memories other than those we already have.

"I feel like I can't reach you," Peeta says, referring to the structure of my dress, but his words have another meaning. Everything between us will always be slightly out of reach. "Listen, tonight –"

Before he can finish, or even really start, Effie Trinket furls through my door. "Time to go, children! Oh, Katniss," she murmurs, stopping in her tracks. "You would have made the most beautiful bride," she whispers into the air. She blinks quickly, her eyes stinging with tears, and composes herself. "We're off! Follow me!"

"Katniss, I…" Peeta tries again.

"Whatever you say tonight, I trust you," I whisper, and I squeeze his hand. We follow Effie out of the room and to the last obligatory ceremony before the slaughter.


	19. Chapter 19 - Goodbyes

When Peeta and I arrive backstage, the other victors have already lined up for their interviews. The chattering among the group falls silent, and their eyes all lock on us. Some shoot daggers, others indifference or sympathy.

"I can't believe Cinna made you wear that thing," Finnick says, eying my dress. I can't tell if he's trying to empathize with me or not, but I won't let anyone speak poorly of Cinna.

"Snow made me wear it," I say defensively. The faces of the others shift. Is Snow trying to garner me favors with the audience? Will I get sponsors they won't after this spectacle? But most just look at me with pity, which is almost worst.

"Well you look ridiculous!" Cashmere seethes and storms off, dragging her brother behind her. They take their spot at the lead of the procession, and the rest of us line up behind them.

Johanna struts up and adjusts one of the pearl necklaces. I expect some venom from her, but instead she states firmly, "Make him pay for it," and turns to take her spot ahead of us in line. Peeta holds my hand tight and we take our place. He seems exceptionally nervous – shifting in place, the fingers of his free hand drumming his leg in inimitable patterns.

It's not until the first tributes take the stage that I realize the depth of anger and betrayal among the victors. Some are too old or doped out or incoherent to protest, but at least half the victors are mounting some kind of dissent.

Cashmere and Gloss take the angle of sympathizing with the people of the Capitol. It's a clever way to engage a self-involved people. Cashmere says she can't stop crying when she thinks about how they must be suffering. I see people in the audience nod fervently in agreement, dabbing their eyes. Gloss enumerates on the kindness shown to him and his sister.

Beetee questions the legality of the matter as his fidgets in his seat. Has the issue been examined by legal experts of late?

Finnick recites a poem he wrote to his one true love, and dozens of women and even a few men swoon in the audience, certain his words are meant for them. I almost roll my eyes at the act, but something in the way he looks at the camera at the end tells me he's saying goodbye to someone real and tangible. I start to wonder how much I actually know about Finnick.

Johanna loses it. She tries to stay calm, asking if something can't be done. _Surely the creators of the Quarter Quell never anticipated such love forming between the victors and the Capitol. No one could be so cruel as to sever such a deep bond._ But you can tell she the word _love_ tastes bitter in her mouth, and soon she's just shouting profanities until her time is up.

Cecilia ignores Caesar entirely, and instead looks directly into the camera and tells her children a bedtime story. A hard lump forms in my throat.

Seeder is quiet and thoughtful. She wonders how, back in District 11, everyone believes Snow to be all-powerful. If he's so powerful, why doesn't he change the Quell? I smile at her clever dig. She made him look weak or cruel, but either way, she's placing the blame solely on his shoulders.

Chaff insists Snow could change the Quell if he wanted to. He must not think it matters much to anyone.

By the time it's my turn to enter the stage the audience is an absolute wreck. My fingers are trembling and Peeta kisses my neck softly. "You got this," he whispers before letting go of my hand. I put on my fakest smile and walk slowly and deliberately to Caesar, as if in a wedding march. The people in the crowd start wailing at the sight of me. I know Snow put me in this dress to torture me, but I wonder if he realizes now how horribly it has backfired. It makes me smile, which the audience mistakes as affection and gratitude for their sorrow. I run with it. Even Caesar's professionalism begins to break as he tries to calm the audience. By the time they are silenced, we've lost most my interview time. It doesn't matter. Just seeing me has done what we needed it to. I will be a martyr. My death with fracture the Capitol and unite the Districts.

"Katniss," Caesar starts, his composure regained. "Am I right to assume this is the gown you were to wear in the wedding that is no longer to be?"

"Yes. I wanted to wear it just once. I wanted to share it with you, with my family here in the Capitol," I state. The crowd sighs in anguish. I feel what Johanna felt, the word _family_ feeling like a cruel betrayal on my lips, but I offer a demure smile and everyone loses it. My voice trembles as I continue. "I'm so sorry you won't be at my wedding, but isn't this just the most beautiful thing?" Without needing the queue from Cinna, I stand and begin to spin. The audience claps and cheers, but soon their noise shifts to cries of alarm. Around me, my dress begins to smoke and burn. Pearls collapse to the ground and evaporate into the air. Black silk swirls around me in the air as the flames engulf my dress. It only lasts a moment, and when I still I see the creamy white of innocence and youth has been extinguished. The dress is black as coal, with silk hugging my body. Under my raised arms feathers shoot from my body like wings.

"Oh my! You look like a bird! Like a… like a…." Caesar stammers.

"Like a mockingjay," I state. The wedding dress was for the Capitol. The mockingjay is for the Districts. The audience claps wildly in awe, and I find Cinna. I nod in gratitude for what he has offered me. I've never been good with words, that's Peeta, but tonight he's given me a song. He's empowered me to help the people of Panem long after I'm gone. This image of defiance, of bravery, will be immortal. I quickly realize, though, that this won't be seen as solely my act of insurrection, it will be Cinna's as well. Snow will make him pay for this. Suddenly my stomach knots in fear, but my interview is over, and I'm escorted to the back of the stage.

Peeta enters, handsome in his tuxedo, and Caesar's face expresses unambiguous relief. He and Peeta quickly pick up their usual repartee. They have an easy give-and-take, and the audience gobbles it up greedily. They make a few jokes about overcooked poultry, but it's easy to see that Peeta is distracted. Caesar directs the conversation flawlessly.

"So Peeta, what was it like for you when you found out about the Quell?" Caesar asks.

"I was in shock. I mean, one minute Prim is covering my eyes so I don't see Katniss in her wedding dresses…" The audience laughs at this beautiful moment. Prim is a Capitol darling, even if she's never been here. The idea of Peeta and Prim together makes them smile. "And the next…"

"You realized there was never going to be a wedding," Caesar finishes for him.

Peeta stops talking. It almost looks as if he's debating something in his mind. Finally, he takes a deep breath and speaks. "Well, that's the thing, Caesar. Katniss and I are already married." The audience erupts in calls of confusion and chaos. This is clearly what he wanted to run by me.

"How can that be?" Caesar question.

"It's not official or anything. I mean, we didn't go to the Justice Building. But see, there's this ceremony in District 12 called a toasting. And on the day two people wed, they enter their home together, make their first fire, and toast a piece of bread over its flames. When they feed the bread to each other, it's a promise. A promise to love each other. A promise to take care of one another. To find happiness in small moments. To memorize each other's hands and faces. To make each other laugh, to hold each other in sorrow. To offer comfort and affection. To wash dishes and run baths and make tea and just be together." The audience sighs. "We knew if we got married in the Capitol, there wouldn't be a toasting. So one night, we just did it. Our families and friends weren't there, there's no piece of paper. But Katniss and I, to each other at least, we're married. We made promises to each other, and I intend on keeping them as long as I can." His last words are intentional. He won't falter on his promises. He'll just be unable to keep them if he's dead. The audience understands, and muffled sobs and sniffles pepper the crowd.

"And this was before the Quell?" Caesar asks.

"Of course it was before the Quell! I'm sure we'd never have done it if we knew!" Peeta stumbles as he visibly starts to get distressed. "But who could have seen this coming? I mean, we won the Games, and everyone seemed so happy for us. We couldn't have known…"

"Of course not, Peeta, you couldn't have known. But you must be happy you at least had a few short months of wedded bliss?" Caesar coaxes gently. The crowd cheers for our happiness, however temporary it was.

"I'm not glad. I'm not glad at all," Peeta insists, his eyes desperate. "I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially."

Even Casesar looks surprised. "Surely the time you had, brief as it may have been, was better than no time at all?" he offers.

"Maybe I'd think that too," Peeta says with a darkness in his tone. Betrayal. Bitterness. Despair. "If it weren't for the baby," he adds, and the audience breaks into outright hysteria.

The chaos that erupts is explosive. This is entirely unprecedented. They are horrified. There are cries of injustice and accusations of barbarism. Even the most bloodthirsty Capitol citizen cannot ignore how sickening it is.

I am pregnant.

My eyes burn but I just let it play out on my face. This could have been true. If we hadn't been locked away from one another last night. If even one of any number of moments between us had gotten carried away. But it reminds me that we are not just losing our lives now, we are losing what future we might have had. We won't have a toasting. Peeta won't ever be a dad. When Peeta crosses the stage and reaches me, I throw my arms around his neck and we hold each other. The audience begins to throw things onto the stage. Caesar has lost all control. Peeta lets me go, and I look to my right. Chaff kisses my cheek, not in the abrasive drunken way he kissed me before, but to say he's sorry. I take Peeta's hand, and the other I wrap around the stump where Chaff's hand once was. Another scar from another Game. He reaches out to Seeder, and in a few seconds time, all twenty-four victors are holding hands in the first show of unity across the districts since the Dark Days.

The lights are cut and the auditorium drops into blackness. We are rushed from the stage, away from the moans of the crowd, who wail like wounded animals. We are taken to the Tribute Center. I lose hold of Chaff, but Peeta firmly grips my hand, pulling me out of the crowd and into the elevator. The doors close behind us, and with it the sounds of chaos. My ears ring as they adjust to the silence.

"Do I have anything to be sorry about?" he asks.

"No, nothing," I reply.

The doors to our suite open, but no one is inside. We mull around the kitchen for a bit, and finally Haymitch shows up.

"It's absolute madness down there. People are rioting in the streets. Everyone got sent home," he tells us.

"So we'll never see Effie again," Peeta replies. We didn't see her the morning of our Games last year. I'm sure he's right. We go to the window and look down at the pandemonium in the streets. "What are they saying? Are they asking the president to stop the Games?"

"I don't even think they know what to ask. This whole situation is unprecedented. Even the idea of opposing the Capitol's agenda is foreign to these people," Haymitch replies. The three of us watch the crowd. It looks like a mess. An unruly protest. It looks like the start of an uprising. After a while, Haymitch says, "You know there's no way Snow will cancel the Games, right?"

We nod silently. We know. But that's not our agenda anymore. We are leaving the rebellion something to work with. If we both fail, then our deaths will mean something. Cinna's voice rings in my ears. _You mean something to people._

"Will you tell Effie goodbye for us? Tell her thanks. Tell her… tell her we love her," I ramble. Haymitch nods. This will be it for him, too. We won't see him tomorrow.

Peeta offers Haymitch his hand, knowing our old man is not one for affection, but Haymitch pulls him into his chest and squeezes him tight. They are still for a minute, then Haymitch turns to me and cups my face in his hands. We don't touch each other normally. We're both cold, impersonal people, but he's doing this so I really pay attention. So I know he means what he says. His voice is low and meant only for me. "I'm going to get you out of there."

"I don't want you to do that," I whisper back. Peeta lives. We chose Peeta.

"I'm going to get you out. One way or another. Just stay alive. Stay together, and stay alive." I blink, because he's not confessing he'll save me over Peeta. He's telling me he'll get us both out. I furrow my brow, and he pulls me into his arms. We're quiet for a minute, and then awkward as we part. He looks at us both. "Go to bed. Get some rest." He turns to go, but at the last moment he stops and turns back to us. "Katniss," he says, and I look up to him. His face is hard, his eyes weary and knowing. "When you're in the Arena, just remember who the enemy is."

I nod slowly. The enemy? The enemy is everyone but Peeta. He slips out of our room, taking all he can stand, and Peeta and I are left awkwardly in the kitchen.

"We should get some sleep," I offer in a low voice. "I didn't sleep at all last night."

"Me either," Peeta replies. We head up to my room and grasp each other's hands tight. The door clicks locked behind us, but this time we aren't not the wrong side from one another. We stand and face each other. I loosen the tie on his neck and it hangs unknotted from his collar. In the corner of my eyes I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Dark. Dangerous. A personified symbol of the resistance. I am the Mockingjay. But when I look back at Peeta, I can't do it anymore tonight. I can't think about it.

"Can you help me out of this?" I ask softly. He nods. I turn around as Peeta's fingers undo the different hooks and buttons holding the black silk and feathered dress in place. When he finally frees the last one, the dress drops unceremoniously to the floor. It doesn't feel like a symbol anymore. It doesn't feel like a noose. It feels like a thing at my feet. The structured corset that was holding the entire dress up is still laced onto my body. Peeta unties the bottom knot and uses his hooked fingers to pull the ribbon from the loops, and with each sweep I feel like I can breathe again. I didn't realize I wasn't breathing, but now that I have air I feel sort of high. When his fingers reach the top of the corset, Peeta freezes. I hold it up with my hands pressed to my chest and slip into the bathroom.

I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror for a minute. Black eyes like charcoal. Cheeks contoured. It's just another mask, another role to play, another lie to tell. I grab a washcloth and run it over my face until the makeup is gone it's only me staring back. I pull my hair loose and set the headpiece on the counter. The corset is not me either. I toss is aside and find a loose tee shirt and some cotton panties. Now all I see in the mirror is a girl. A nervous girl. I step back outside, and Peeta is still standing where I left him, suit on, tie loose.

"Hey," he says, smiling.

"Sorry, I just… I didn't feel like me in all that," I mumble, but his smile doesn't fade.

"This is my favorite way to see you," he confesses on a breath, his eyes lingering on my bare legs at the hem of my tee shirt. I step forward, still facing him, and pull his jacket from his broad shoulders. I have to press my body against his to pull it all the way off, and it feels like his skin is burning through his shirt. My fingers work the buttons slowly, my eyes watching my hands until I reach the last one and tug his shirt loose from his pants. He stares at me the whole time, and I realize he's just as nervous as I am. His shirt falls to the floor. My fingers start with his belt buckle, and I hear him swallow. Until this point, his hands have remained respectfully at his sides, but as his buckle is released and I free the button on his pants, his hands ghost my body. "Can I touch you?" he whispers. I bite my lip and nod. Peeta's hands sweep under my shirt and over my back. A sound I've never heard before catches in his throat, and I meet his eyes. "Please don't say goodbye to me," he begs, dropping his forehead to mine.

"No goodbyes," I confirm, and I press my mouth to his in a kiss. "This isn't about goodbye." The second we are connected, though, things aren't slow anymore. This isn't a lazy kind of want. We have no time, and we kiss as though we don't need air. We kiss as though the thin fabric that separates us is treasonous on our bodies. We kiss as though words are not enough. Nothing is ever enough. I leap back up how we were before, my legs wrapped around his waist. He takes a few steps forward, pulling my shirt over my head and dropping me onto the bed beneath him. His mouth never leaves mine, I beg it not to. I don't need him to speak; I just need his mouth on me, his fingers on me, his skin on me.

His hands slide to my breasts and he gently kneads them in his hands. When he slips his thumb slowly back and forth over one of my nipples, I gasp and arch my back, and he buries it with his mouth. I squirm under him, the feeling of his lips on my body so intense that I can't help but move into it and away again, taking what I can bear, wanting more. I knot my fingers in his hair and tug, and I feel him hum in response, his lips vibrating on my skin and his tone gravelly and deep. He is praising me. He's singing a song only we know the words to, and when his mouth returns to mine I tell him I know too. I brush his lip with my tongue and he opens his mouth slightly under mine. I slip my tongue inside and I feel the muscles in his stomach clench in response. I slide my hand over them; feeling every muscle in his body contract and release, his body trembling under my touch.

"Can I take these off?" I ask in a breathy and erotic voice that I've never heard before. Peeta nods enthusiastically, and I slip my thumbs into the waist band of his boxers and slide them away from his body. He asks with his eyes if he can do the same, and he pulls my panties over my legs, kissing my hip and inner thigh and making my body feel fluid, like I have no bones or shape. Like there's no right or wrong way to be. He lingers down there for a moment, and when he drops his mouth to me I cry out. I feel him smile before he begins caressing me with his tongue, finding the place that makes me gasp, and I squeeze my eyes closed. I pull at the sheets as his mouth works on me, and I'm sweating and shaking at his touch. When he slides a finger inside me I start to pant, and he only takes this as encouragement. When he curls his fingers deeper and pulls slightly up, the muscles in my body go taut. This place feels different. It feels intense. I whimper because I'm too wound up to make any other sound, and Peeta sucks hard for a minute, like he wants to taste me, but it makes white spots flash in front of my vision.

I ask for his mouth back, and his lips crash into mine. I drop my hand between us and can feel he's throbbing. He is so impossibly smooth, like a stone wrapped in silk. I glide my hand over him in a way that's become familiar to us, and his thoughts garble in his mouth. I drop my other hand lower and cup him, gently squeezing as I work him in earnest now. His arms, which he uses to prop his body above mine, are now quivering and he drops to his elbows. Our chests press together, our hips press together, and we both stop as we take in this moment of simply belonging together. Being together. I move my hips under him slightly, aligning my body with his, and he understands what I'm doing.

"I love you, Katniss," he whispers as he drops his face to my neck.

"I love you," I whisper back, my voice timorous.

"No goodbyes," he asks more than says, his tone shaking.

"No goodbyes. Not yet," I confirm, and he slides himself into me. I gasp and his body stills, waiting for me. It burns in a way I've never felt before, and I begin to slowly rock my hips. He remains still, watching me as I coax the pain away. When my face shifts, he starts to move along with me, finding a sloppy then smooth rhythm, and I feel like we're meeting for the first time. His face looks different – his forehead furrowed in a face of pleasure and ecstasy, his eyes clearer and more vibrant that I've never seen them. He refuses to close his eyes, unwilling to miss a minute, but as he starts to really thrust into me, I can't help but toss my head backward and squeeze my eyes shut. One of his hands grasps the headboard for leverage, and I grip the sheets and beg them to hold me to this plane for as long as possible. He drops his other hands between us and begins to stroke me where we meet. I cry out and clench around him, and I see his face twist then still as he tries to hold on. "Keep doing that," I beg, and his hands find a rhythm and he rubs me, watching my face. We are suddenly both chasing something imminent. I force my eyes open. I want to watch him do this. We rock together and I try to hold on, but when I feel his hips buck I let go. Tremors rock through me, and the feeling sweeps over my body like waves. I make noises I don't mean to make, and watch Peeta as he groans into the final few thrusts before I feel him hot inside me. His hips still and he collapses on top of me. We're both covered in sweat and our bodies tremble slightly as we come back down.

Our chests heave up and down in unison as we pant into the soaked sheets. He stays inside me for a while, and I never really want him to leave. When he finally pulls our bodies apart, the air feels cold. I pull the sheet up over me and he pouts. "Let me look at you," he pleads, pulling at the sheet.

"Then get under here," I offer, and he pulls the sheet up over our heads. He grins at me and kisses me softly. My eyes are heavy. The lack of sleep from last night is catching up with me, and I fight with my body. I feel my head bob and nod, and I try to keep myself awake. "I'm so tired," I breathe.

"Go to sleep, Katniss," Peeta breathes in my ear, rubbing my neck and shoulders.

"I don't want to. I don't want to miss any of this," I say back, but words are slurred in slumber. My head finds its home on his chest, and I listen as his heart slows from a slam to a thud to a beat. I listen to him breathe. I need to keep this boy breathing for as long as I can, and soon I feel him fall asleep, his breaths solid and steady.

 _Goodbye._


	20. Chapter 20 - Touch

I don't know that either of us really sleep. We spend the night holding each other, drifting somewhere between asleep and awake. We both try to be still, not wanting to disturb the other, hoping one of us might get a few precious minutes of rest. I sleep in his shirt. I know he's already here with me, but I want every bit of him until I'm gone. I bury my face in his chest.

"I like the way you smell," Peeta whispers.

"I smell like Capitol shampoo," I utter.

"You smell like the woods. You smell like outside. You always do."

Cinna and Portia show up at dawn, and I know Peeta has to leave. Tributes enter the Arena alone. He gives me a light kiss. "I'll see you soon," he says.

"See you soon," I whisper.

We wait a while. The tributes leave in order and there's only one landing pad on the roof. District 12 is last like always, so I'm stuck fiddling with my hands, waiting. "I didn't say goodbye to Portia," I realize out loud.

"Don't worry, I'll tell her," Cinna says, squeezing my hands. He looks across the room and sees the Mockingjay dress hanging in the closet. Peeta must have done that. I'm grateful Cinna didn't see it piled in a mess on my floor like it was last night. It would have made me seem ungrateful. Disinterested. A hard lump forms in my throat. Peeta, always considerate of others. I didn't even say goodbye to Portia, and yet he made sure Cinna's creation was treated with respect. This is why Peeta lives.

When the red-headed Avox girl comes to my door, I know it's our turn to leave. As I walk past her I stop and grab her hand. "Thank you," I say, and tears well in her eyes. I realize people don't touch Avoxes. The last time a human touched her, it was probably to cut out her tongue. I imagine a life without affection. I've never been a physical person. I'm stoic, elusive. But I've spent my life with Prim snuggled beside me. Brushing her hair, pulling splinters from her fingers, kissing her scraped knees. I imagine what it would be like to never be touched. I pull the girl into me. I wrap my arms around her. She hesitates for a minute, then she rests her head on my shoulder and sighs. "Don't let them break you," I whisper. She nods, wipes the tears from her eyes, and we part.

Cinna escorts me to the roof. We mount the ladder and the electrical current freezes us in place. A doctor in a sterile lab coat injects the tracker in my forearm, and this all feels unnervingly familiar. Like I'm living out a waking nightmare. The hovercraft takes off. Cinna presses me to eat, and when my throat seems to close while nibbling a cracker, to drink instead. I take small sips of water and try to hold it down. I can't save Peeta if I die of dehydration.

When we reach the Launch Room, I shower. Cinna braids my hair the way my mother used to. I push her from my mind. I can't think about home. Our undergarments are plain lightweight cotton. Cinna helps me dress into the provided outfit – a fitted, nearly sheer blue jumpsuit with a zipper up the front. The shoes are nylon with flexible rubber soles. I'm covered neck to toe, but I feel naked.

"What do you think?" I ask Cinna, and he rubs the paper-thin material between his fingers thoughtfully.

"I have no idea. This material won't protect much from cold," he states.

"Sun?" I ask. I picture the Arena as a barren dessert. No woods. No water. Nowhere to hide.

"Maybe, if it's treated," he considers. He takes my gold mockingjay pin from his pocket to pin it to my chest. At least I'll have something familiar in there with me. He rolls my token in his fingers. "Katniss," he swallows. There's something he has to say and doesn't want to.

"Just say it," I blurt out. It sounds harsher than I meant it to. I squeeze his hand. "Sorry. Nerves." He offers a forgiving smile.

"You can only take one token into the Arena," Cinna says.

"Okay?" I reply, not following. "I'll take my pin."

"I need your ring," he whispers gently, trying to offer some comfort.

I stare at my left hand. At the delicate ring that circles my finger. It's not a real engagement ring. It's a fake ring for a fake engagement. I know that. I look at the intricate band, the tiny metal tree branch wrapped around my finger. The leaves nestling a petite pearl. Peeta made it for me. It's still from him. But I know what my pin means to Panem. I know that's what I have to take in the Arena with me. My stomach feels like I swallowed rocks. I slide the ring off my finger and drop it in his hand.

I inhale a shaky breath. "When…" I clear my throat. "When they send me home, will you make I have this with me?" Cinna looks away for a second. I've never been this blunt about it with anyone. He knows what I'm asking. I want it for when they bury me.

"Katniss," he starts, but I shut him up.

"Please?" My voice breaks. He just nods. "My dress last night was extraordinary, Cinna," I offer. It was. Extraordinary and reckless. But he knows that. The knot twists in my stomach. He pins my token to my suit.

I drop down on the bench and he sits next to me, rubbing the tension out of my hands, his thumbs pressing into my palms and pulling the ache out through my fingers. An announcement comes over the loudspeaker and I make my way to the circular metal plate in the glass tube. Cinna walks over and zips my collar to my chin. "Remember, I'm still betting on you, Girl on Fire."

"Thank you," I breathe, and anxiety mounts in my chest. I wait for the door to close, for the plate to lift, but nothing happens. I look at Cinna but he's just as perplexed as I am, when the door behind him slams open and six Peacekeepers spring into the room. Two pin Cinna's arms behind his back and cuff him while a third strikes him in the head so hard he topples to his knees. I see the spiked gloves and spring from the disc. The first Peacekeeper that reaches me I punch in the throat. I try to remember my training. Sparring with Rye. Using their weight against them. The second approaches me and I drop my center of gravity low and ram myself into their pelvis like an anvil. They unexpectedly topple over me, but when I stand the third slams me in the stomach with a baton. I double over. The others join in, kicking my abdomen repeatedly as I choke and gasp. I realize what they are trying to do.

Snow isn't sure whether the pregnancy is a lie or not. He's punishing me either way. If I am pregnant, Snow wants me to experience my baby's death. Not just kill me and have the baby die along with me. He wants me to lose it. If I'm not pregnant, then the lie made him look heartless. I made his people question their loyalty. On the floor, brutalized blow after blow, Cinna and I lock eyes. Then I feel arms under mine, and a couple of Peacekeepers drag me back to the lift and throw me in.

"Stand up," one barks before the door closes. I know he's right. If I'm not standing on my plate then I'll be blown up. I force myself to my feet and vomit blood on the floor. With me gone, all six have turned their attention back to Cinna. They beat him with studded gloves until his face is unrecognizable. When he finally loses consciousness they drag him from the room. Blood pools on the white Launch Room floor, and once again it's crimson red on pristine white. I scream his name and try to beat the glass with my hands, but I'm hurt and slipping. I hold my breath and force myself to remain conscious. I don't know how long I stand here. How long I can remain upright, but then the lift goes up.

Don't fall. Don't fall.

I'm still leaning against the glass when the breeze catches my hair and I force myself to stand up straight. I'm immediately blinded by a bright white light. The ground looks like it is shifting and moving. I try to focus, but I'm blinded by pain. It's water. I can tell that. The entire Arena is water. I'm going to pass out.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games begin!" Claudius Templesmith's voice booms in my head, echoing and warping. I hear the countdown begin. 60. 59. 58. I need to stay conscious for at least a minute. I cannot fall off this plate. 39. 38. 37. My body flushes with heat and the whole Arena tilts radically to the side. Don't fall. 16. 15. 14. Someone is screaming my name. I hear someone screaming my name. 6. 5. 4. The sides of my vision are getting dark. 2. 1.

I collapse. My body is limp and I roll off the side of my plate into the water. I'm sinking. Everything goes black.

 _This is no place for a Girl on Fire._


	21. Chapter 21 - Allies

Everything is quiet and dark. Peaceful.

I come to, choking up water onto the ground. "Katniss! Katniss!" Peeta's voice pierces into my consciousness. "Oh my god, Katniss!" Peeta's voice is strangled. His hands are in my hair, on my face. He pulls me into his chest. I cry out in pain and he pulls back with a flinch. I watch him eyeing my body, his fingers running over me, looking for blood. "Are you hurt?"

I regain my bearings. My abdomen is throbbing. Peeta is bent over me, hair dripping wet, panic evident on his face. I squint and look past him, trying to take in my surroundings. The Cornucopia looks like it's on an island. I realize we are on one of what appears to be ten or twelve strips of stone and gravel connecting the Cornucopia to the mainland, almost like spokes coming out of a wheel. Between each spoke are two tribute plates. My mind starts coming into focus when I notice Finnick charging down the spoke toward us. I try to push myself in front of Peeta, but there isn't much I can do.

"Can you shoot?" Finnick asks, shoving a bow and arrow into my hands. What is happening? I'm woozy, but I force myself up and nod. I give Peeta a discerning look and take the bow when I notice a gold bangle flash on Finnick's wrist. "Good thing we're Allies, sweetheart." Finnick says, noticing my eyes on his wrist. Haymitch. I briefly consider that Finnick may have stolen the item, but I dismiss the thought quickly. _Sweetheart_. This is an order. Trust Finnick.

"Better duck then," I state, and he hits the ground. I send an arrow flying down the spoke at Brutus, who is barreling toward us. My vision is still blurry and the arrow plants in his shoulder. He stumbles and drops into the water.

"We need to take the Cornucopia before the Careers do," Finnick orders. His voice is so different from his usual seductive purr that I'm taken aback for a moment. He's clearly already made a trip and shoves weapons into our hands. "Don't trust One and Two."

"Let's each take one side," Peeta offers and we take off running toward the Cornucopia. Pain. Pain. Pain. I force myself forward, but when I reach the island I drop to my knees and vomit off the side.

"Katniss!" Peeta stops and drops down next to me.

I spit bile into the salt water. It's not blood this time. Good. This is just a reaction to the pain. Peeta looks at me. _What happened?_ he desperately asks with his eyes. "Morning sickness," I answer his gaze. It means I can't tell you. It means move.

He nods and takes to his feet, dashing to the far side of the island. I do the same. "Do you see anything over there?" I call out. "Food? Supplies?"

"Weapons, it's nothing but weapons," Finnick hollers back. "There's no point in staying here. Grab what you want and let's go!" There seems to be a moment of respite. Leaving the tribute plate requires swimming, and not everyone can. There was no pool in the training rooms. You either entered the Arena knowing how to swim, or you better be a fast learner. I scan the water and see some tributes still stranded. I could easily pick them off now with my arrows. I shake the thought from my head. Peeta spent months forcing me to think like a Career, but we didn't mean that. I'm not shooting the helpless.

"How did you get here?" I ask Peeta.

"I swam," he replies, eyes on the perimeter.

"You don't know how to swim," I yell back.

"Gale showed me in the pond behind Thom's house," Peeta answers.

"You can't swim in that thing. It's barely three feet deep. It's really just a puddle, Peeta," I retort.

"I never said I was good at it," he chuckles, but the smile fades from his lips immediately. Whatever break we had is over. Enobaria reaches a spoke and immediately starts sprinting toward the Cornucopia. I send an arrow flying and she ducks it before she trips and falls back in.

It happens so fast I almost miss it. I barely catch the movement in my periphery. Peeta throws a knife at Gloss, who narrowly escapes the blade, when the man from District 9 emerges from the water and wraps his arms around Peeta's feet. Peeta slams to the ground hard and the man drags him off and pulls him into the water.

"Peeta!" I scream, and they struggle for a minute before both going under. I nock an arrow but I have no target. My heart slams in my ears. "Peeta!" I throw my bow and arrow to the ground and run toward him, readying myself to dive in, but by this point Finnick has reached me and pulls me back before I can leap into the water.

"Let me get him!" Finnick says as his arms wrap around my waist. I scream in agony. He drops me immediately. "Katniss, how hurt are you?" he asks, but it doesn't register. All I know is the water has gone still. I scan the surface frantically and a cannon booms. I stop breathing. This can't really be how it ends. A body bobs to the surface, static and lifeless. I can't tell who it is, and I feel sick. My head starts to split when suddenly Peeta resurfaces, gasping for air. We pull him back up and I wrap my arms protectively around his neck. Looking around quickly I see we're no longer alone. Finnick hurls his trident and it lands squarely in the chest of the District 5 male with a thud. I grab my bow just in time to see Gloss and let an arrow fly, which lodges in his calf. He falls back into the water.

We three cannot hold the Cornucopia alone, though, and Finnick has clearly reached the same conclusion. "We've got to go," Finnick orders and we agree. He scans the shore and points toward a silver head bobbing near the beach. He takes off after it and we follow suit. We run down the spoke for a moment, but realize quickly we're easy targets as darts and blades zip past us. We turn and dive. Peeta is barely able to keep his head above water, but we make it to shore. Peeta coughs and sputters, having taken in half a lung's worth of salt water on the journey.

"You call that swimming?" I ask with a smile.

He laughs through a cough. "I never said I was good at it," Peeta chokes out. We're together. We're alive. That's about as far as the plan goes.

Finnick rushes forward and embraces Mags. I give him a sideways look. Why would he align himself with her? He's a Career. He's supposed to be ruthless. He catches me staring and turns quickly defensive. "We are not leaving Mags behind."

"I have no problem with Mags. Especially now that I see the Arena. She's probably our best chance at a meal," I start, but Finnick seems on edge, shifting his body protectively in front of the old woman.

"Katniss wanted her on the first day," Peeta adds, and it seems to improve the dynamic.

"Katniss has remarkably good judgment," Finnick replies. With one arm he reaches down and scoops Mags onto his back as if she weighs nothing. "Come on," he orders, eyeing the Cornucopia, which is now overrun with the Career pack like ants on a piece of fallen food. I almost ask Finnick to wait as I spy Beetee still stranded on his disc, but for all I know, Finnick would kill him on the spot. We take off running into the woods. Finnick carries Mags on his back and her head bounces aimlessly as his feet thud on the forest floor.

Distance. We all have the same goal in mind.

I push the pain aside and run. These woods are not my own. A word pops into my head, almost foreign sounding, but I know what this is. _Jungle._ The flora is unfamiliar; the trees have smooth bark and high branches. The air is thick and hot, and it becomes immediately apparent that finding water needs to become a priority. Sweat beads and drips from our bodies like a glass of ice water sweating on a hot summer day. Peeta and I have been training, though, and Finnick is in pique physical condition. We are able to put miles behind us and the beach in a short time, but soon the vegetation becomes too thick to continue running. Peeta takes the lead, cutting a path for us with his long knife. I allow Finnick to follow second because he's got his hands full with Mags. I take the rear, my eyes burning as I keep watch. The ground pitches upward, and by the top of the hill we are all gasping for air.

We decide to take a break, although it's really more for Mags. The rest of us could push forward if we had to. Peeta approaches me, his voice low, his fingers ghosting my stomach. His brow is distraught. He wants to know what happened. I shake my head vehemently. If I say anything Snow will burn my house down. Prim isn't safe until I'm dead.

"How did I get out of the water?" I ask.

"Finnick had just surfaced with you by the time I got there, and I pulled you out," Peeta replies. "I couldn't see you right away, but I heard someone screaming your name."

"Finnick?" I ask.

"No, Finnick was only a few plates over from me. He couldn't see you either. It was a woman. I think it might have been Johanna," he replies. That makes no sense. "I think she was telling Finnick to get to you. I'm not sure anyone else would have been able to save you. I know I couldn't have, even if I'd reached you when he did." Peeta stares at his hands.

"Why would Finnick do that? I mean, I get Haymitch set up an alliance, but…" He should have let me drown. One less tribute to kill later. Peeta just shakes his head. I wish it were just us. I wish I could rest my head on my knees for one second. Instead, I stare at Finnick's back as he kneels in front of Mags.

"I want to get a better look," I announce and take to the nearest tree. Peeta watches me carefully from the ground. Stretching for each branch makes my sides scream, but I keep my face even. I can't show the cameras any more weakness. No one will sponsor us if they think we'll be dead by sunrise. By the time I reach the top, though, I wish I hadn't.

Around the Cornucopia, the salt lake appears to be bleeding. Bodies lie on the ground and float in the water. The Careers clearly had no qualms about taking out every stranded tribute. The battle doesn't appear to be over, with figures moving violently on the shore. I remember last night, our hands joined in unity. What did I think? That we'd form some kind of truce in the Arena? No, but I thought maybe we'd show some restraint. Less glee in slaying one another. Maybe we'd avoid a massacre. _And you all acted like friends_ , I think bitterly _._ I only have one friend here, and he's not from District 4.

I make up my mind. I need to take out Finnick. It's too risky to have him this close to Peeta. I could easily shoot him in the back as we walk. It's despicable yes, but is it better if I wait? Owe him more? I already owe him my life, but I certainly don't owe him Peeta. When I drop to the ground, though, it seems like Finnick is already one step ahead of me. As if he knew how what I saw might affect me. His hand rests on the trident with feigned casualness.

"What did you see up there?" he asks cavalierly. "Was everyone holding hands? Singing songs? Did they throw all the weapons in the sea and swear a vow of nonviolence?"

"No," I reply bitterly. I don't like being this transparent. I've never had anyone read me the way he does.

"No. Because no one in here is a Victor by chance, Katniss," Finnick pauses for a second. "Except for maybe Peeta."

Peeta looks like he's taken some offense, but Finnick has realized what I've known for a long time. What Haymitch knows. What every victor knows. Peeta is better than the rest of us. Finnick and I stare at one another. My fingertips dance lightly on my bow, and I calculate in my mind if I could nock and shoot an arrow before his trident hits my chest. I don't need to survive this, I just need to make sure he doesn't either. The air between us thickens, each waiting for the other to blink, when Peeta steps in the middle. He's not blind to what's happening here. He's just more trusting by nature than I am.

"Let's move," he orders, and the tension dissipates like a drop of blood in a tub of water. Fine. I'll kill him later. Peeta resumes the lead, slashing the thick plants with his blade, and we take up our journey.

"Everyone keep your eyes out for water," I add as we push forward, but there's nothing. We move about another mile, and I can see the tree line coming to an end. We must be cresting a hill. "Maybe there's water on the other side," I call out, and Peeta persists forward.

But there is no other side.

A glint catches my eye. I think maybe it's the dehydration or my mind playing tricks on me, but I see it, almost as if it's floating through in thin air. A blurry square. A chink in the armor.

Peeta raises his blade.


	22. Chapter 22 - Zap

"Peeta, no!" I scream, but his arm is already in motion. His blade hits the force field and he is thrown back violently. For a moment I can see the land outside the arena – barren, dusty, dry. Everything in here isn't real. Not real. Not real. But the smell of burnt hair sends me reeling. Peeta is sprawled out on the ground, unconscious. "Peeta!" I exhale as I drop to my knees. My fingers race over his body as I repeat his name over and over, shaking him. He's unresponsive. "Don't do this. Don't do this!" I beg. I trace his lips with my fingertips but feel nothing. He was just panting a moment ago. I should feel hot air, instead his lungs are empty. I drop my head to his chest, but it doesn't feel familiar, it doesn't feel like home. His chest is vacant. Hollow. Silent. "Peeta!" I scream. I shake him harder. I even resort to slapping his face, but there's nothing there to bring back.

"Move," Finnick says, pushing me out of the way. He drops to his knees next to Peeta, his fingers touching points on his neck. He runs his hands over his ribs, his spine. When he pinches his nose shut, I lose it. I hurl myself at him, but his arm shoots up and nails me square in the chest. He shoves me with such force that I slam backward and smash my back into a tree. I scramble to load my bow when I'm stopped by the sight of Finnick kissing Peeta. I stay my hand. No, he's not kissing him. He's blowing air into his lungs. I watch as Peeta's chest rises and falls against its will. It's almost mechanical, disturbing.

After a few huffs of breath, Finnick unzips Peeta's jumpsuit and pumps his hands over Peeta's heart. My mind hurdles back, and I remember my mom doing this once. Knees on the edge of our kitchen table, she brought someone back.

Finnick has clearly done this before. His moves are practiced. His hands know what they are doing. But my faith diminishes as the practice drags on for minutes. Watching Peeta's body lifelessly flap to Finnick's movements makes me sick, and for a moment I realize that's all it is. Peeta's body. He's not there anymore. I think about the hovercraft coming and trying to collect him. Trying to take him away from me. I'm not giving him to them. I am starting to lose my mind when suddenly Peeta coughs a little, and Finnick leans back on his heels, his body drenched in sweat from the exertion.

"Peeta?" I leave my weapons in the dirt and throw myself forward. I brush the hair from his face and drop my mouth to his. The kiss is sticky and snotty and I don't care. His eyelashes flutter and he slowly opens his eyes to meet mine.

"Careful," he says weakly, "There's a forcefield up there." I laugh while tears pour down my cheeks. "I'm okay, Katniss," Peeta whispers, his eyes still heavy as the drop closed again.

"You were dead!" I blurt out in an uncontrolled sob. I'm hysterical. "You were dead! Your heart stopped!" I clap my hand over my mouth and I start to make those awful choking noises that happen when I sob.

"It's working now," he says with a soft smile as he pulls my head to his neck. I can feel his pulse hammering and it makes it that much worse. "It's alright, Katniss," he soothes, running his fingers in my hair. I can barely breathe I'm crying so hard. Peeta's never seen me like this, and concern crosses his face. "Katniss?" He looks at my face.

"It's just the hormones. From the baby," Finnick adds.

"No, it's not," I sob, which only seems to confirm what Finnick said about my pretend pregnancy. He meets my eyes and I glare at him furiously through my tears. I expect him to look smug or sarcastic, but instead he just watches us with a perplexed looks on his face. Examining us, like he's trying to figure something out. I want to hate him, but I can't. And now that he's saved Peeta's life, I'm never going to be able to kill him. I'm never going to stop owing him.

"Do you want to stand up?" I hiccup.

"Yeah, let's try that," Peeta replies, but he only makes it as far as sitting before he needs to stop for air and we all begin to understand the reality of the shape he's in. "I need a minute," he chokes out. We stand around for a bit, but soon Finnick has grown impatient. He kneels next to Peeta.

"How are you doing? Do you think you can move on?" he asks.

"No, he needs to rest!" I snap.

"We can't stay here, Katniss. You know that. We have no cover, no water…" Finnick pushes.

"If you're so anxious to go then leave. Nothing's keeping you here!" I push back.

"Did you see what I just did there, sweetheart? That's called saving his life. If I wanted you dead, I'd have left you at the bottom of the lake. And you're as good as dead if you stay here. Night is coming. They'll be hunting soon," Finnick finishes. I know he's right and I despise him for it. I turn to Peeta.

"Do you think you can walk?" I ask softly.

"I think I'd better have to," he replies, pushing his arms under his body and hoisting himself up. A gold medallion flashes at his chest, dangling from his neck as he forces himself to his feet by sheer will and nothing else. I see my mockingjay engraved in it.

"Is that your token?" I ask, taking it in my hands and rubbing my thumb across the front.

"Yeah. I wanted us to match," he pants. Even standing has him exhausted. I stare at the mockingjay. I'm not the only one priming myself for martyrdom.

I check our weapons, not because I need to, but because I need to get my act together. Look like I have some kind of control, some kind of authority over the situation. "I'll lead," I announce. Finnick starts to object, but Peeta interrupts.

"Let her do it. You knew the forcefield was there, didn't you? You tried to warn me," Peeta states. I nod.

"How did you know?" Finnick asks. I hesitate. I don't want to give away Wiress's method. I don't want the Gamemakers to know what I know. They might do something so I can't see the flaw in the forcefield anymore. So I lie.

"I don't know, it's almost like I could hear it buzzing," I answer.

"I don't hear anything," Finnick replies, and we're all quiet as they try to listen. The sounds of the jungle make it almost feel alive. A tepid breeze rushes through the trees like an exhale. The noises of insects and birds like blood rushing past your ears. But no buzz.

"There it is! Hear it?" I insist again. I decide I'd better play it up for all it's worth. I turn my head side to side. "Huh. That's funny. I can only hear it in my left ear."

"The one the doctors reconstructed?" asks Peeta.

"Yeah," I shrug. "Maybe they did a better job than they thought. You know, sometimes I do hear funny things on that side. Like insect wings. Or snow hitting the ground." Perfect. Now all everyone will talk about is whether I have superhuman hearing. They'll interview my surgeons. This is good attention.

I take the lead with no further protests. We move slowly, but slow is better than not at all. At this pace, Mags can walk on her own. Finnick fashions her a cane from a large stick. I walk with the forcefield to my left, just to align with my story, but since that's all a total crock, I cut down a bunch of hard nuts that hang plentifully from the trees and toss them ahead of me as I go. As the nuts hit the forcefield, there is a zap and they pop away, blackened and shell cracked at my feet. After a while I hear a crunching from behind me and realize Mags has been munching away at my leftovers.

"Mags!" I cry out. "That could be poisonous."

Finnick chuckles to himself. "I guess we will find out," he adds.

I can't size him up. He wants to risk his life to ally with this woman, but he'll let her eat foreign food that might kill her. By this point he's now saved both Peeta and me. He didn't need to do either. He could have let me drown. He could have let Peeta die. I'd have never known he had the power to revive him. I can't reconcile his actions with his motive. Haymitch trusts him, though. I try to set my skepticism aside.

I raise my hand and signal for us to stop. "I want to get another look. Maybe I can spot a stream or something from the air," I state. It seems to be as good a plan as any. I grit my teeth to avoid screaming in pain as I leap for the first branch and swing myself up. I cling to the tree, woozy.

"Are you okay, Katniss?" Peeta calls.

"Yeah, I'm good," I lie, pulling myself up and scaling the tree. There's something I need to see. I climb up until the branches are questionably thin and the top of the tree sways with my weight, but I confirm my suspicion. There's a reason we'll never be able to turn left. The Arena is a perfect circle. The sky burns off into a pink light around perimeter. I draw an arrow and aim it for an empty space above the tree line. There's a spurt of light, and for a split second the entire dome illuminates in a flashing grid. A flicker of blue sky from the outside appears and the arrow bounces back into the jungle like the apples off the roof. I climb down, drop to the ground, and relay what I saw.

"Did you see any water, at least?" Peeta asks.

"Just the salt lake," I reply.

"There must be some other source," Peeta says with frustration. "Otherwise we'll all be dead in a couple days." We go silent for a moment and look at one another. These Games are unpopular. Maybe that's exactly what the Gamemakers want. End it as soon as possible.

We decide to move down the slope a few hundred yards and continue circling. There has to be water here. The leaves are thick and robust. The animals are alive. The plant life is thriving. A spring. A stream. Something. But as the day burns on, the air turns to steam and its clear Mags can't go on much more. Peeta is trying to grit through it, but he wouldn't protest if we stopped.

We make camp about ten yards below the force field. Peeta insists we can use it as a weapon if attacked. Sort of an homage to Haymitch. Finnick and Mags pull up some long, sharp blades of grass and begin weaving mats to protect us from the sun and whatever diseases might be lying in the dirt. Since Mags hasn't keeled over and died yet, Peeta collects a bunch of the nuts and fries them on the force field. He sits, methodically peeling the shells and setting the flesh on a leaf. I stand guard, sweat dripping from my body, muscles tense. I feel raw. I fidget. I can't keep standing around.

"Finnick, you stand guard. I'll go search for water. And I should probably hunt while I'm at it," I say. No one is thrilled with the idea of me going off alone, but the imminent need for water outweighs their concern. _Stay together._ Well, that won't matter much if we are dead from dehydration. I can't do one without doing two first, and if we don't get water soon none of us will make it. Finnick argues that he should go, but he doesn't hunt on land. Peeta wants to accompany me, but I'll never be able to catch any game with him noisily trotting beside me. "I won't go far," I finally concede. "I'll stay within earshot."

Once I'm alone, the jungle seems to buzz to life with exotic creatures – birds with turquoise feathers, lizards with large scales and fans across their backs. Still no water. I spy a giant rodent, almost like a possum, climbing a branch. I shoot it down. His snout is wet. "You know where the water is," I grumble to him as I skin the creature. I desperately search around the area for the source, but I come up empty.

A cannon booms and I flinch, my heart leaping to my throat. I'm about to scream Peeta's name when I hear another and another. The bloodbath at the Cornucopia must finally be over. It claps six more times, and I move my lips with each boom, counting. Seven dead. It must be the roar of the cannon that keeps me from perceiving the approach, but as I turn to resume cleaning the rodent, I hear a twig snap behind me.

I spin around and find Finnick has followed me into the woods. Without hesitation I send an arrow flying.


	23. Chapter 23 - Water

The arrow misses Finnick's head by inches before landing cleanly in its target. I can see the whites in his eyes as he spins around in time to watch the female tribute from District 9 fall to the ground, my arrow lodged in her throat, a bloody knife clutched offensively in her hand. A cannon booms in the sky, and I wonder if the others will think it was part of the original count, or if they'll realize what's happened.

"What the hell, Katniss?" Finnick shouts, still a little in shock.

"I think the words you are looking for are thank you," I reply as I shove past him and reach the woman.

"You could have hit me! You barely missed my head," he retorts, and I can see he's shaking slightly from the adrenaline.

"If I'd wanted to kill you, Finnick, I'd have killed you," I reply coldly, throwing his words back in his face. I stabilize the woman with my foot before I pull my arrow from her body, wipe it on the mossy earth, and slide it back into my quiver. I look ruthless. It will probably get me sponsors. But my heart slams in my body. That's my kill. That woman will haunt my dreams for the rest of my life. Well, if I ever sleep again. "Either we need to move her or we need to move camp. But we can't be close by when the hovercraft comes." He nods in agreement.

We decide between the two of us it would be easier to drag her a few miles and run back than move Mags and Peeta. We each grab a shoulder and begin the ugly process of hauling the woman through the jungle. I picture her family watching us from home. I imagine what I'd do if someone killed Peeta and took off with his body. The pain in my lower abdomen is searing, and we're forced to stop a few times to rest. Once we unload the body, however, I'm able to make the run back to camp. The pain has started radiating throughout my frame, and a particularly potent pang shoots to my left shoulder. I run through memories of my mother in my head, but I have no idea what that means. I ignore it.

When we arrive back at camp, they all look at us hopefully, but I just shake my head. "No water," I reply. We don't get into what just happened. I think Finnick and I are both a bit ashamed. Like we desecrated something.

"Can we eat that?" Peeta asks, eyeing the animal carcass.

"I think so. It would need to be cooked, though," I add dismally. A fire is out of the question. We have no materials and there's no masking the smoke in such a small Arena. I butcher the animal anyway while Mags and Finnick make camp with their mats. I look over and Peeta is watching my hands prudently.

"Can I have a piece?" he asks.

"Don't be stupid, you'll make yourself sick," I respond without thinking.

"Give me the meat, Katniss," he replies lightly, ignoring my boorishness. He skewers a cube onto a stick and drops it toward the forcefield. There's a sharp sizzle and the stick flies backward. The meat is charred on the outside, but cooked through. We all clap and then suddenly stop, remembering where we are.

We feast on tree rat and nuts. A full belly on the first night is an accomplishment, but we all feel the thirst parching our tongues. In more temperate conditions we could survive a few days without water, but here, where our skin is constantly sheened in sweat and the temperature only seems to rise, we might not make it past tomorrow. I look at Peeta.

The night stills. Noises flourish in the jungle – the chirps of insects, the hoots of night birds – but it's still quiet enough that I can hear Mags snoring lightly a few feet away. I tell Finnick he can take first watch, but I have no intention of napping and letting him kill Peeta in his sleep. At this point the thinking is somewhat unjustified, but I can't take that chance. Peeta takes the spot next to me and pulls one of the mats Mags weaved over our bodies. It's not cold. He's just looking for some privacy from our allies. From the cameras.

"Let me see," he whispers, dropping his eyes to my stomach. I look away. His fingers find my zipper and he tries to slide it as quietly as possible. I'm sure Finnick can hear it. He probably thinks something indecent is going on. Peeta pulls my jumpsuit open. I wonder if he can hear my pulse hammering in my throat, my wrists, my head, my ears. "Oh my god, Katniss," Peeta's voice cracks as he takes in the injury. I let my eyes drop. My stomach is nearly black. I don't think I broke anything as they were aiming lower than my ribs, but it hurts to breathe. It hurts to move. He ghosts his fingers over my skin and I suck air through my teeth. "How would we know if you are bleeding? Internally, I mean?" he whispers.

"I don't know," I sigh. _When I just randomly drop dead, I guess._ His eyes well and I'm so frustrated I could scream. We aren't even through the first night and both Peeta and I have serious injuries. _Stay alive._ Right. Haymitch must be pulling his hair out. I zip my suit back up, making no effort to conceal the sound, and pull myself from the mat.

"Katniss –" Peeta starts, but I ignore him.

"Finnick, you can sleep. I'll take over," I say, loading my bow and sitting next to him.

"Lover's quarrel?" he teases, batting his eyelashes, and I find the Finnick I thought I knew. I plant myself beside him but he doesn't move. Peeta frets for a bit, but the exhaustion from his injury overtakes him, and soon he is sleeping. Finnick and I both sit for a while, both too stubborn to let the other win. After a while, he turns his head toward me. "Thank you," he says softly.

"You too," I reply, referring to the lake.

"I wish we'd known each other," Finnick says with a half-smile. "Before. You would have liked me." I laugh, but not in a mean way. It's sincere. I check over my shoulder to make sure Peeta is still breathing, and bring my eyes back to the surrounding trees.

"I'm not used to having allies," I say, trying to excuse my behavior but not totally succeeding. We're quiet again. "Who was the girl?" I ask when I catch his eyes on Mags. He clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably.

"She volunteered to save Annie," Finnick replies. I expect him to say more, but he doesn't, as if even saying her name in here is more of Annie in the Arena than he'd like. They're both protective of her. I wonder if she's like Peeta. If she's good. I think, once you get below the surface, Finnick and I are more similar than we realize. It's probably why we can read one another. "One of us should sleep," he says, stepping away from me and settling in beside Mags. I watch as he closes his eyes and rests a hand on her waist, keeping watch even as he sleeps. He's decided to trust me. My heart breaks a little for him. Losing Mags is only a matter of time.

I shake my head. I can't get invested in them. I only have one goal. Keep Peeta alive. In short order the sun slips out of the sky and the pink fades into a pale gray. My eyes adjust. Things are visible enough. The sky bursts into light as the anthem of Panem blares out over the Arena. I expect this will be hard for Mags and Finnick, but it's surprisingly difficult for me too. Peeta rustles and we all look up, save Mags who covers her ears and curls up on her side.

The first tribute shown is the man from District 5 that Finnick killed with a trident to the chest. That means all four Careers are still alive, which is unsurprising, but it also means Beetee and Wiress somehow made it out of the bloodbath. Next is the woman from District 5 and the male morphling. I assume the Careers took them out. I hear a sad sigh from Finnick when Woof and Cecelia's faces flash in the air. I'm not surprised about Woof. He looked helplessly stranded out on his podium. Cecelia makes my stomach turn, though. I remember her three children, sobbing and clinging to her legs. Peeta shudders lightly as the man from District 9 glows in the sky, and I stare at the ground so I don't have to see the woman. We took out the whole district. District 10 is dead too, presumably Career kills.

"Did I sleep through a cannon?" Peeta asks.

"What?" I reply.

"That's eight. There were only seven in the bloodbath," he adds. Mags mumbles in her garbled district accent, reminding him the last cannon was delayed for a couple seconds.

"That wasn't the bloodbath. That was me," I confess.

Peeta looks at me. Finnick looks at a tree.

"I took out Nine," I reply without emotion. I can tell Peeta wants to comfort me, but we don't mourn strangers in the Arena. I turn back out toward the woods, resuming my guard. Everyone else just sits silently, digesting the sky. We may have stayed like this forever, except that a parachute lands in the middle of our camp. We all stare at it, no one claiming the item for their own.

Finally I speak. "Whose do we think that is?" Mags points to Peeta.

"He did die today," Finnick teases with a grin. "I'd say he earned it."

Peeta picks up the item gingerly and unwraps the silver silk to reveal a small metal object that none of us seem to place. It could be anything. Part of a bicycle. A piece of plumbing. We are allies, though, which means Haymitch had some influence in picking this out. The others play around with it, blowing in one end to see if it makes noise, trying it out as a weapon, but I don't touch the thing. I know what this is. I just need to find it.

I close my eyes and imagine I'm home, in my woods with familiar trees and familiar trails and familiar smells. With brooks and leaves and wildlife that isn't creepy or exotic looking. My thirst overwhelms me, and so I bring myself to the lake. I imagine cupping my hands and sipping cold, clear water. I see my dad, playfully splashing me. I watch his back as I follow him in the woods. I see him kneel down, dipping his finger in a bucket and letting me taste the unrefined sap he'd tapped from the maple tree towering over us.

"It's a spile," I almost breathe to myself, my eyes still closed.

"What?" I hear Finnick ask, and I open my eyes.

"It's a spile. We use them at home to tap sap from trees," I say. Finnick looks lost. They clearly don't have the right kind of trees in 4. _They don't have the right kind of trees here either_ , I think as I look around, and then I realize. "There must be something else in these trees," I whisper.

I take the awl Mags has been carrying around in her mouth and slam it into a nearby tree. I whittle and widen the hole with a knife until it's wide enough, and then I hold out my hand expectantly. Finnick slaps the spile in my palm warily, and I wiggle it into place. A drop of water slides down the opening, and Peeta cries out for joy. I turn around and throw my hand over his mouth, but soon we're both just giggling. He kisses my nose and I blush.

"You're a genius," he whispers in my ear. We drink handfuls of water. We fill woven bowls and even rinse our faces. I finally pull the tap from the tree and tie it in a loop around my waist. We don't want to leave it behind if we have to take off in a hurry. Satiated, everyone else lies down and tries to fall back asleep while I resume my post. I push myself a little further back, until I can reach Peeta's hand. I entwine my fingers with his.

"Katniss," he whispers when everyone else is asleep.

"Hm?" I hum back, not turning my head.

"Remember when you made me that cinnamon cake?" he asks with a slight slur, sleep pulling him under. I smile lightly.

"Yeah?" I murmur, trying to keep my voice down in the dead of night.

"I like you," he breathes, before drifting off to sleep. I know I'm supposed to be staying guard, but I watch him for a little while. "I like you too," I whisper, long after he's gone.

I stare out into the woods, but I feel my eyes getting heavy. I should wake Finnick, I think, until a deafening bong jolts me awake. Finnick lurches up too. "Cannon?" he asks, but the tone is wrong. It's almost like the song of a bell, but bellowing. We count to ourselves as it continues, and then evaporates in the night air.

"I counted twelve," I say. Finnick nods. "What do you think that means?"

Finnick shakes his head. "Twelve months in a year?"

"One for each district?" I ask. He nods. That seems more likely, but I still don't understand the significance.

Across the Arena, a dazzling bolt of electricity strikes a towering tree before a lightning storm begins. I assume a rain will follow, a gift of water to the tributes who have yet to find any.

"Twelve is a sublime number," Peeta says from behind us. I hadn't realized he'd woken up. "It has a perfect number of divisors," he mutters. I smile at him, remembering him asleep on my couch with Prim.

We all fall silent. Maybe Claudius Templesmith will make an announcement, but minutes pass and we give up. I hear the rain pelting in the distance then dying out.

"Katniss, you should go back to sleep. I'll take over," Finnick offers. I nod and stand up on my feet, turning back to settle down next to Peeta. I notice a fog rolling in from the direction of the downpour. It's just a reaction, I think. Cool rain turning to steam on the hot ground. But my stomach knots. Instead of sliding down next to Peeta, I walk past him. "Katniss?" I hear Finnick say with some trepidation in his voice. The steam reaches toward me in tendrils, curling and pulling like fingers, as if they are clawing the cloud forward. Something is not right.

A sickeningly sweet odor invades my nostrils, and I cough as I cry out to the others. In the few seconds it takes for Peeta and Mags to get to their feet, my skin begins to blister.

"Run!" I scream.


	24. Chapter 24 - Fog

The droplets from the cloud sear my skin. Bow and arrow already slung around my body, I grab Peeta's hand and take off running, dragging him behind me. My abdomen screams in pain, but I swallow it and focus on the more imminent threat to our lives that is slinking relentlessly toward us. Finnick pushes past us, carrying Mags on his back. She flops wildly as he sprints forward, clinging to his shoulders and looking back at us.

The jungle floor is difficult enough to manage as is, with vines obscuring the ground, but Peeta struggles. He can't feel anything under his false foot, and when it catches on a root his body pitches forward and slams into the ground hard. "Keep running," he screams at me as I drop to my knees to help him, and he heaves himself up and takes off again. I can tell his vision is blurry, and I try to guide his way by running ahead of him a few feet. My lungs scream for air when I feel Peeta's arm grab me from behind and pull my body into his. A tendril of gas has leaked out to the side, and he swings me away from it, exposing his back. When the fog slices his back he starts screaming, every muscle contracting and releasing in agony. He places his hands on my back and shoves me away from the fog and toward the nearest tree. "Climb!" he orders. I look up. The fog only goes about forty feet up, I could easily scale above it and wait it out.

"I'm not going to do that. I'm not leaving you," I reply, and throw his arm over my shoulders. I thrust up with my legs and my abdomen screams in pain. We both fumble through the woods. "Watch my feet. Follow my feet," I order. Finnick is many yards ahead of us now, but like us he's finding the fog collapsing in from the sides. He cries out as it burns his arms and legs, and collapses, spilling Mags onto the earth. Peeta's body has begun twitching violently next to me, and I notice convulsions running through my body as well. I hold my hands out and they jerk and fidget. There must be some kind of nerve agent in the air. Peeta took the brunt of the fog, though. The left side of his face sags, as if every muscle under his skin has died. A whole new fear overtakes me. I'm going to lose him in these woods. "Come on, Peeta! Come on!" I shout, and he forces himself forward.

Soon, though, my arms are twitching too much to hold on to him, and we both crumple to the ground. Finnick sprints back to us, trying to get us up. I feel Peeta lurch next to me and I realize Finnick is hauling him onto his back. "Can you take Mags?" he shoots me a desperate look.

"Yeah," I say, but I already know I won't survive this. I can't carry anyone. I can barely stand straight. But before I can even attempt to lift her, Mags is by Finnick's side. They argue for a minute, and she finally kisses him softly. Maternally. I abruptly realize Finnick is not shoving around some old lady from his district through the woods. That is not who she is to him. He screams her name and she turns away, walking toward me. I reach out my hand, but Mags just smiles before marching directly past me and into the fog.

"Mags!" I screech, and it consumes her. Her body twitches in a horrific dance, and it's only a few moments before she collapses to the ground. A cannon blasts. "Mags!" I scream again, but Finnick has already turned away, running with Peeta. I force my legs to follow, but I'm swallowing a sob. Before long our bodies are twitching too violently to move much further. The fog continues its persistent journey toward us. Through the leaves I see the glow of the sand on the beach. I yell in a strangled voice, and the three of us crawl like a worms unearthed by the rain trying not to drown. We cling at the creepers that cover the forest floor, hurling ourselves forward. When we reach sand I stare back at the fog. We won't make it to the water. This is over. But when it reaches the tree line, it shoots up vertically, almost as though it's hit an invisible wall. As if it's being vacuumed into the sky. I feel tears drip from the sides of my eyes and down to my ears.

I'll never forget the things we lost in the woods tonight. Dignity. Morality. Human beings.

Our chests heave and our limbs shake. I'm barely able to keep my eyes open. With the adrenaline fading, the pain in my body becomes almost unbearable. That's when I feel someone's arms under mine. I try to open my eyes, but everything is blurry. I feel my body dragged across the sand. I try to kick. I try to fight. But my body is uncooperative. I stare and try to focus. Hands. The hands are blistered. This person was in the fog too, but they're not convulsing like the rest of us. I hear them grunt as they leave me on the wet sand near the shore line. Things get quiet, and then I hear a groan and Peeta is dropped next to me. There are two people. They must both drag Finnick.

One grabs my feet and something registers. This person only has one hand. "Chaff?" I choke out, but my voice is hoarse, burned by poison, and so it just comes out as a wheeze. He leaves me so my feet are in the water, and when a wave rushes up over my body I scream. He throws a hand over my mouth, and when the wave pulls away, it pulls the poison from my skin. I feel pain literally pulled from my body. I am being cleansed. The next wave hits and I scream into his palm, tears rolling down my face. It's excruciating, like salt on a wound. "Shh…" he murmurs. Our eyes meet, and the venom runs away from my body as the sea gulps the wave back up.

"You got it from here?" he whispers, and I nod vehemently. He gets up and runs down the beach toward a woman, and they disappear into the trees. I whimper as I scoot my body closer to the water. The next wave that crashes over me reaches up to my chest, and I force my mouth shut and bury the scream in my throat. My limbs stop twitching and my body stills. I just let the salty sea purify me, wave after wave. I finally pull my entire body into the water and dunk my head under. I gargle. I breathe water up my nose and choke it out again as it stings and burns my sinuses. My hands are still, my eyes are clear. I turn my focus to the boys on the beach.

I grab Peeta's feet and drag him in. I watch as the poison billows away from his skin like a milky cloud in the water, and the ebbing tide pulls it back out again. With the second wave he wakes, but when he sees me he just closes his eyes and tries to block out the agony. Where I was screaming and writhing, he doesn't make a sound. He's better at this than me. He's practiced. He spent years of his life hiding pain, staring his mother down as she beat him senseless. A stifled scream in his throat is a familiar feeling. I drag him in further until he's regained control of most of his body. He dunks himself underwater and comes up sputtering.

We both get Finnick and drag him in. I press my hand to his mouth as he screams, and his wild eyes lock on mine and calm. He trusts me. He floats, almost instinctively buoyant. I hold his face on either side with my hands.

"We have to do your head now," Peeta whispers. Finnick's still disoriented but shifts his eyes to Peeta's. He finds a peace there. A stillness in the blue that keeps him grounded, as it has for me so many times. "Mouth, nose, and eyes, got it? This is the worst part, but you'll feel so much better after," Peeta adds as he grips his shoulder tight. Finnick nods in understanding, and I push him under. He thrashes for a moment, but then he moves away from us underwater. I realize he's swimming. He comes up a few feet away. After a while we retreat from the water. The boys walk ahead of me toward the beach. Our skin is blistered and marred. Our jumpsuits are in tatters. But we survived.

When I pull myself out of the water, though, Finnick is staring at me, his jaw dropped.

"Katniss…" he breathes, his voice soft. I follow his eyes and realize the angry bruises on my stomach are visible to the world through the feeble remains of my jumpsuit. He takes a step toward me and I shift back, raising a hand defensively. "Is that why you fell off your pedestal?" he asks. I look away and bat my eyes, trying to force the memory to fade, but the sound of air leaving Cinna's lungs is ringing in my ears and bile rises to the back of my throat. "Did you lose the baby?" he murmurs. The last question is barely audible.

"I don't know," I whisper back, and something flashes in Finnick's eyes. Something that I imagine is flashing all over Panem. Even in the Capitol. Snow never intended on anyone seeing this. Snow intended on the platform blowing me up. Me drowning. Someone killing me at the Cornucopia. District 9 killing me in the woods. Stopping my heart with a forcefield. Melting me in poisonous gas. I'm not supposed to still be alive.

But now it's exposed. And I can feel it here, on the beach. I can feel it vibrating all over Panem. _Fire is catching._

I pull away, but Finnick throws his trident to the ground and steps forward anyway. He wraps his arms around me. He's gentle at my waist, but he pulls me in. I shove him at first. I struggle against his arms. But he forces me closer. "I'm so sorry, Katniss," he whispers, and I break down, my body racked with sobs. I cry for Cinna. I cry for a loss I never truly had. I cry because I have no idea what kind of permanent damage was done. I cry because I'm never getting out of here, and none of it makes any difference anyway. Peeta comes up from behind me and wraps his arms around my chest. The three of us stand there silently – our skin damaged, our bodies mangled, surrogates for those we love that were torn from our arms. Three unlikely souls from opposite sides of Panem, standing together. I wipe my face with what's left of my sleeve and Finnick steps away. Peeta and I hold each other for a long time after, grieving what never was and what never will be.

He clings to me. He thinks this is his fault. He won't say so, because he knows I'll comfort him and he doesn't want to be a burden. He breathes into my neck.

"It's not your fault," I say quietly, and I feel his body tremble against mine. Haymitch's words ring in my ear. _Remember who the enemy is._ "I'm going to tap a tree," I state, pulling away. I'm feeling vulnerable. Exposed. This may be good for the rebellion, but it's terrible for sponsors, and right now I still have a shot at keeping Peeta alive.

"Here, I got it," Peeta says, taking the awl from my hand. How did I get this? Mags must have dropped it. _Mags_. I shake my head. I can't think about that. Peeta needs something else to focus on, so I don't put up a fight. My hand drops unconsciously to my stomach and Peeta stops and unzips his jumpsuit, yanking off his undershirt. He walks over and tugs the soaked shirt over my head, pulls his suit back on, and heads for the tree line. I smile at his back. Peeta finds a good tree about ten yards in. I can't see him anymore, but I hear the digging of the metal into the wood clearly.

I watch Finnick, who has gone back to the water, fluctuating between floating on his back and diving deep into the black lake. At one point he goes under and doesn't come back up, and my heart starts to thud in my chest. He's gone well past how long I can hold my breath. Panic surging, I go charging into the water. My eyes search the surface desperately for any sign of where Finnick went under when he resurfacing mere inches from my face, grinning like an idiot.

"Don't do that!" I shove him.

"What? Go down or come back up?" he teases.

"Either. Both." I stomp out of the water furiously, and Finnick trails just a few feet behind.

"I'm sorry," he shouts, but the laughter in his voice makes me think he's not all that contrite.

We both cross into the tree line toward Peeta, and I immediately perceive the shift. It's probably my years of hunting in the woods, but my skin prickles in the heavy heat. Something is not right. Finnick clearly notices my change in demeanor and drops his hand to his trident. I touch Finnick's arm and his gaze follows mine. At least a dozen monkeys with angry red faces sit in the trees looming over Peeta. I don't know how I know what they are. Monkey is a foreign word in my head. Maybe I read about them in some children's story, but with daggers for teeth and smacking lips, I know their presence is ominous of something very bad.

"Peeta," I call out, keeping my voice level.

"Yeah?" he asks, concentrating on the hole.

"Can you walk back to me slowly?" I ask.

"One second, I've almost got this," he adds, his arms flexed and he digs the blade of a knife into the dense wood. "There. Do you have the spile?" he asks, picking little bits of wood from the hole with his fingertips.

"Yes. Only I've got something else you need to see first. But I need you to come to me slowly, so you don't startle it," I state measuredly. Peeta knows something is wrong. I see his shoulders tense.

"Okay," he replies, dropping his arms as casually as possible as he begins to cross to me. He can feel it now too. These creatures, panting, breathing into the air like they are waiting for the gunshot at the start of a race. Holding back. Peeta moves carefully, but his false leg puts too much pressure on a fallen stick, and it snaps.

The monkeys descend like a bomb going off.


	25. Chapter 25 - Mutts

It's absolute chaos. I send arrow after arrow as the monkeys lunge forward, jaws snapping, claws sweeping. The way they move is unnatural. They are too fast to track, too swift to target. I can only react as they leap at me, teeth borne.

"They're Mutts!" I scream out, but I'm sure Peeta and Finnick already know.

Peeta slashes with his long knife, and a corpse flies away from him. Finnick is swift with his trident, stabbing and heaving creature after creature, but more plow through the woods and the sheer volume begins to overtake us. We press our backs together and attack what's in front of us. I reach to my sheath and find my last arrow. A Mutt has reached me before I can even load my bow, and I jam the arrow through its jaw and into its head. I use its limp body to deflect another attacker, and scream to Peeta, who has my extra quiver. He only turns for a second, sliding the bag of arrows off his shoulder and into my hand, but I see the Mutt fly at him. I know I can't get my bow loaded in time. I watch helplessly as Peeta turns and throws his arms defensively in front of his face when a woman comes flying out from the bushes and leaps in front of Peeta. The Mutt sinks its teeth into her throat and she makes a horrible gargling sound. Peeta stabs his knife into the monkey's back again and again until it falls limp. He throws the Mutt from her body and steps in front of her, placing himself between her and the rest of the pack.

"Come on then! Come on!" he screams at them, his voice filled with rage, knife drawn. They back away from him slowly, and Peeta drops to his knees to check the woman.

"Who is it?" I yell, covering Peeta.

"It's the morphling!" he cries out, shoving his arms under her and lifting her in the air. Some of the Mutts still engage, but most begin withdrawing back into the jungle, as if possessed. Peeta bolts for the beach, Finnick following and me taking up the rear firing arrow upon arrow into the mob. Peeta charges through the trees until his feet hit sand. I cross the tree line and, like the fog, the remaining monkeys shriek but are unable to move toward us. Finnick guards them anyway, trident out, and I run down the beach to Peeta.

The morphling is in his lap, gurgling and drowning in her own blood as it pours into her lungs and out of her neck. He rocks her slowly, his voice soft. It sounds like nonsense, but the words aren't meant for me. "I paint. At home, I paint. With watercolors and with oil paints. Sometimes I try to make my own out of berries or coffee. And on my palette, I can mix any color you can think of." Her eyes fix to Peeta. Her face is camouflaged with mud and juice and what appears to be her own blood. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated like two black holes. Her chest convulses as she chokes, but she listens to Peeta. She tries to hold on to something beautiful in her last moments, instead of focusing on her own body as it gives up. As she dies in the sand. "I can make green, like spring grass. And pink, light as a baby's skin. I can make orange, like a sunset burning off in the sky." Her eyes flutter shut, and in a moment she's gone. Peeta still talks to her, holding her against his chest as her warm blood pooling between them. A cannon slams and he flinches, holding her tighter before he gently lays the morphling on the sand. I take his hand and we step away from her backwards, keeping our eyes on her gaunt, bony body as the hovercraft appears and drops down a metal claw to collect her remains. Peeta doesn't stop watching until the doors close and she's gone.

"Why would she do that?" he breathes, guilt heavy in his voice.

"I don't know," I answer back. Did Haymitch make deals with these people? Does she have family she's trying to protect? She doesn't even know us. I don't even know her name. Our image is important to the rebellion, yes, but Peeta and I are going to die in here. We all know it. Why would she sacrifice her one chance at survival for a lost cause? We're silent.

"I think Mags killed herself for us," I whisper. "Finnick would have made it out without us. If it had just been the two of them they'd probably both still be here. I think she threw herself in the fog so he could get us out."

He shakes his head. It doesn't make any sense.

"I didn't want you dying for me, and I certainly don't want anyone else dying for me either," he says, defeated. "I'm not worth it." We're both silent, feeling undeserving and small.

Finnick rejoins us, his fist filled with arrows covered in monkey blood. "I thought you might want these," he says, dropping them next to me on the sand.

"Thanks," I offer and walk to the shore to clean the gore from my weapons. After I finish, we all stare at the jungle, numb and exhausted.

"We might be safer on the beach," I say out loud. I know it's what everyone in thinking. I look over and notice Finnick scratching his face, ripping open a scab from where he was burned by the fog. "Don't scratch, you'll get infected," I scold, swatting at his hand. I don't think he realized what he was doing it, and he looks at the blood on his fingertips. We all look horrible. Our skin is scabbed and marred. We're covered in blood and flesh and wounds of war. I notice my fingers subconsciously itching my arm and I still them at my side.

It's morning, but the sky is still dark.

"You guys should get some sleep," Finnick states. I'm about to offer to take watch, but I look in his eyes and realize he's barely holding back tears. He needs some time alone to mourn Mags.

"Thanks," I say, and Peeta squeezes his shoulder. We lie down in the sand a dozen or so feet away. Peeta curls his body protectively around mine and weaves his fingers with my hand.

"Katniss, where's your ring?" Peeta whispers, running his thumb along my finger.

"Cinna has it. I could only take one token into the Arena, and I wanted my pin." _For the rebellion,_ I think. "For luck," I say.

His eyes look sad as his thumb grazes my bare skin. "It's probably better. You might have lost it," he says. He's right. I could have lost my whole left hand, my whole left arm – let alone a tiny metal ring. Still, I realize I'll probably never see it again. I don't think Cinna is alive. I don't know for certain, but something in my gut tells me he's no longer with me. A lump sits in my throat like a rock, making it hard to swallow. Peeta rubs a tense spot in my back, and I sigh softly in encouragement. Eventually he dozes off. I feel him breathe behind me. I feel his heart hammer into my back. Normally it slows in his sleep, but here, he can't even rest inattentively.

I look up at the dusky sky and think about what a difference a day makes. Just hours ago Finnick was on my kill list, but now I'm letting him watch over us while we sleep. I wonder about that peculiar boy with the bronze skin who loves an old woman and a girl with auburn hair. Who has his own people to protect. Who saved my life. Who saved Peeta. Who else is he trying to save? Maybe everyone but himself.

I let myself sleep. I wake in the midmorning with Peeta still sleeping beside me. I sit up and see Finnick has had a productive morning. On the beach are three woven bowls full of water and one with shellfish. Finnick is on the sand, cracking the oysters open with a stone.

"Morning," he says, keeping his swollen, red eyes on the task at hand. I pretend not to notice.

"Morning," I say back, sitting beside him.

"They're better fresh," Finnick advises, ripping a chunk of flesh from the shell and popping it in his mouth. I go to reach for one, but the site of my hands makes me take pause. My fingernails are caked in blood. I've been digging at my skin in my sleep.

"You know, scratching leads to infection," he says in a sarcastic tone, and I shove him playfully before going to clean up in the saltwater. It stings and bites at my prickly wounds, and I'm not sure which is worse – the itching or the pain.

I look up at the sky. "Hey Haymitch, if you aren't too drunk out there we could really use something for our skin!" I yell toward the clouds. A parachute immediately drops from the sky and Finnick chuckles.

"Did that seriously work?" he asks with a grin. I shrug my shoulders and open the silver parachute. Inside is a metal tube. I screw the cap off and pour some of its contents into my hands. The smell is repugnant and it makes my nose wrinkle, but when I spread it on the worst burn on my leg, the immediate relief makes me involuntarily sigh in pleasure. "Oh Peeta!" Finnick cries in a high voice that is supposed to me. "Oh right there. That scab. That's how I like it!" I scowl at him and he teases. His voice lowers again. "You look like you're decomposing."

It's true. The ointment is a dark gray that dries to a sick green on my skin. The scabs are still visible underneath it, and I look like my skin has begun to rot and peel away from its body. I hardly care. I'd rather look like a corpse than deal with that itching for one more second.

"So you don't mind if Peeta and I keep the tube for ourselves, then?" I ask, and his tone changes quickly.

"Katniss…" He pounces and tries to take the tube from my hand. I bury it underneath me in the sand, and I feel his hands clawing and digging behind me. We're both laughing until tears pour down our cheeks, and I start to wonder if this is kind of what Peeta's childhood was like. Wrestling with his brother, out of breath and smiling. He has a reason to go home. There is some happiness waiting for him there. I finally relent and toss Finnick the tube. He slathers the ointment all over his body.

"Poor Finnick. Must be the first time in your whole life you don't look pretty," I mock.

"It is. Maybe you can give me some tips. How have you dealt with it for all these years?" he asks back. That's it. Finnick is alright.

"I'm going to wake up Peeta," I say, and he grabs my arm.

"Wait, let's both do it," he offers, eye brows twitching in a devious sort of way. I smile and we creep up to Peeta slowly, getting our decomposing faces only inches from his.

"Peeta…" I call out in a sing-song kind of tone. "Peeta…"

He opens his eyes slowly, and as they come in to focus on our ghoulish faces, he screams and claws back away from us in the sand. Finnick and I fall back in the sand laughing.

"Ow, ow," I clutch my abdomen, but the laughter doesn't stop. Peeta tries to stare indignantly at us, but it keeps breaking into a smile. He applies the ointment, and we help each other on places we can't reach on our backs. It all seems kind of jovial until the cannon booms and set us back into reality. Our eyes follow the sound to a part of the forest where the trees are shaking from their roots. The hovercraft appears and drops its claw again and again, picking up the scattered remains of the tribute below. I don't want to know what's over there. Finnick looks visibly shaken. He's worried who that was. Peeta places his hand on Finnick's back in comfort, and another parachute falls from the sky. Another message from Haymitch. _Be friends with Finnick._

Peeta opens the parachute and when Finnick sees the contents, he snatches them away, turning it over in his fingers. There's no need. It's obvious this gift of bread is from District 4. It has that distinctive green tint to it Peeta pointed out to me on our Tour. They derive their salt from seaweed. I wonder why he's acting so possessive over it. Maybe it reminds him of Mags. "Well, this will go good with the shellfish," he says as he tosses it back to Peeta, picking up his usual nonchalant attitude. Peeta eyes him warily. We eat until we are all stuffed and discuss our next steps. We agree we stay on the beach. The jungle is full of unknown dangers. At least here we'll see whatever is trying to kill us coming.

Off in the distance we hear rumbling, and our eyes bolt up to see an enormous wave cresting at the top of the forest across from us. We stand immediately and watch as it crashes and falls through the jungle, roaring and surging forward until it overtakes the beach and slams into the salt lake with such force that water invades the shore of the entire beach, pushing the aftershock twenty feet onto the sand. The water covers our feet and pulls away what remains of our meal were still sitting in the sand. Our jaws drop open.

"I guess they don't stay off the beach," Peeta mumbles. Our previous sense of security appears to be entirely unwarranted. Clearly the Gamemakers were worried we'd hesitate to kill each other. The jungle is full of strange death traps. We either stay in the terrors of the woods, or they force us together on the beach, which will inevitably lead to a battle. Peeta wraps his hand around mine. He's here. He's still with me. They've both realized this same inevitability.

We decide to stay and rearrange our things in the wet sand. We are about to settle when I see them. Three figures, two or three spokes away, stumbling onto the beach. I nudge Peeta, and he and Finnick raise their heads to see what I see. As if by some unspoken agreement, we all clandestinely slink back into the tree line to observe them.

We're not alone anymore.


	26. Chapter 26 - Blood

"Who is it?" Peeta asks, his eyes narrowing as we assess the visitors. "Or… _what_ is it?"

The trio is in bad shape. One is practically being dragged by another. A third wanders around in illogical, loopy circles, almost like a child. They are a solid, crimson red color, as if they'd been dipped in paint and were running across one of Peeta's canvasses at home. I take an arrow from my sheath and load my bow slowly, pointing it carefully at the intruders, but they don't attack. They aren't acting like Mutts. One collapses in the sand, and the dragger stomps around as if having a fit. It shoves the deranged one into the ground, and Finnick's face lights up.

"Johanna!" he screams, and barrels out of the woods toward her.

"Finnick?!" I hear Johanna cry out, scanning the beach until she sees him coming and takes off toward him. "Finnick!" she screams.

"What now?" Peeta asks, watching the exchange. My instinct tells me to slip away into the woods, but we can't leave Finnick. I grumble under my breath, and Peeta smirks.

"Wanna run away with me?" I ask softly, only half kidding. He smiles, offering me a hand up. We both stare at each other for a minute, and I roll my eyes. "I guess we have more allies."

We emerge from the woods and make our way down the beach. Johanna is wildly gesticulating a story to Finnick, whose entire front half is now smeared with the same red as the rest of them. As I get closer, the smell grows sickeningly familiar. It's blood. The two odd characters accompanying her are Wiress and Beetee. I'm strangely relieved to find them alive.

"That's when we lost Blight," I catch Johanna say. "I tried to find him, but it was him or the two of them, and well…" Johanna's eyes shift defensively toward me, and then she turns her back and whispers softly to Finnick. "You guys haven't seen him?" Finnick shakes his head no, and pulls Johanna into his arms. I'm uneasy with her around. Of all the tributes, Johanna was not one I would ally with willingly. I trust her about as far as I can throw her. "At least I got these two," she throws her hands back toward Beetee and Wiress, as if they are some kind of burden she begrudges. "He got a knife in the back and her –"

We all look over at Wiress, who is circling around without a destination, covered in blood, muttering nonsensically to herself. "Tick tock tick tock."

"Yeah, we know. Tick tock!" Johanna hisses at her. She turns back to Finnick and says under her breath, "Nuts is in shock." Wiress careens sideways across the beach, smacking into Johanna, who shoves her willfully to the sand. "Just stay down, will you?" she yells at her, and I'm instantly in her face.

"Back off!" I snap, pushing myself between them.

"Back off? Are you kidding me? Who do you think got them out that bleeding jungle? Who do you think saved them from the lake when you beat it for the woods? I've been dragging them all over this Arena for _you_ , you stupid –"

Before she can say anything further, Finnick wraps his arms around her waist and drags her into the water. She curses at me, screaming and sputtering as he dunks her over and over. The blood drips down her face and doesn't make her look any less deadly.

"She got them for me? What's that supposed to mean?" I whisper to Peeta.

"You wanted them as Allies. Maybe Haymitch told her you wouldn't take her unless she handcuffed herself to someone you actually wanted," Peeta replies.

"Why is she that desperate to partner with me?" I ask. Peeta shrugs. "We won't have Beetee for long if we don't do something," I add, assessing his inert body. Beetee's lost a lot of blood.

Without needing to speak, Peeta takes Beetee and I take Wiress and we drag them down to the water. I can't help them if I don't know what I'm dealing with. I run water over Wiress's head and body, and the blood drips away from her. Some has crusted in her hair, and I scratch her scalp gently with my fingers and work out the clots. She mutters incoherently the whole time, but smiles at me kindly when I gently wipe her face with my sleeve. I assess her head to toe and don't see anything to cause the bleeding. I'll have to ask Johanna about that later.

Peeta is not so lucky with his patient. Once clean, we can see Beetee has a long gash running down his back. We bring over one of Finnick's mats and lay him on his stomach. It doesn't appear Johanna's made any attempt to treat this wound, although it doesn't look like they've stopped moving since the start of the Games. Johanna's eyes are hollow in her head, dry and dull.

"Finnick, why don't you show Johanna where she can sleep and I'll deal with this," I state, and he nods. We give our guests water and move Johanna and Wiress to the shade. Johanna is asleep almost immediately, but Wiress just rocks back and forth.

I focus on the gash. It's long, jagged, and open. I'm sure the jungle holds a pharmacy of medicines, but these are not my plants. I don't know what their restorative powers are. I'm frustrated with myself for skipping the botany section in training. Cocky. Stupid. The wound is still oozing blood, so I'll focus on that first.

"Watch him," I say to Peeta and cross just inside the tree line. I gather some moss and cut vines from a tree. On the beach, I drop to my knees and press the moss into the wound. Beetee, who is mostly unconscious, groans a bit but stays still. Peeta lifts his body and I wrap the vines under his chest and around his back, pulling them tight. I have Finnick tie the vines into a stable knot. I don't know that there's a lot more I can do. I plop in the sand next to him and bury my head in my hands.

"You're good with this healing stuff," Peeta says, dropping beside me.

"No, my sister is. I got my dad's genes," I grumble. I'm supposed to hunt, not heal. "I just hope he stops bleeding." I kneel and peel off the rest of Beetee's blood-soaked jumpsuit and walk down to the water. His best bet against infection is to stay as clean as possible. I scrub it as best I can and set it under a rock to soak. I look down at myself and notice I'm filthy. I'm covered in caked blood from washing Wiress. My scabs have started to peel under the ointment. I decide to wade out a little and clean up.

Once I've put some distance between myself and the shore, I unzip and pull my body from my jumpsuit. I wring it out a few times and bury it under my feet to soak. I submerge myself in the water before shimmying out of my bra and underwear to rinse them. When I bring my panties to the surface, though, I find them soaked in blood. My heart drops into my stomach. I know what the cameras will make of this. I lost the baby. But my mind is racing. I must have hurt my bladder. Or my kidneys. Something inside me is very wrong. I shift my hands to my abdomen and slide them tenderly over my body. I'm a little swollen, yes, but it doesn't seem excessive. Before I know what's happening, a tear slides down the side of my face and I wipe it away quickly. I know I'm not getting out of here. I know that. But somehow seeing this very tangible evidence of my mortality makes it hard to swallow. I wash my undergarments and dress hurriedly. I don't want Peeta to know about this. How hurt I am. He'll only try to slow me down.

Across Panem, there will be rioting in the streets. There will be factories burned. There will be resistance. There will be fury. Snow's calculated message to me will morph into fire for the rebellion. He never thought I'd live long enough to reveal his secret. No amount of propaganda is going to unsee what has been seen. He can't fix this. And he's going to make me pay.

When I come back to shore, Peeta has dragged Beetee next to Johanna and Wiress and is standing guard. He seems markedly better after sleep, both physically and mentally. Finnick is fishing in the sea with a net he's fashioned from long grass, and he tosses his catches on the shore. Cleaning a fish is old hat to me, but it gives my hands something to focus on. Finnick gives me a nod of approval when he comes ashore to find them all fileted and deboned.

Now that our party is bigger, we agree to build a fire to roast the fish. The Careers wouldn't be stupid enough to attack us now, not with Johanna, Peeta, Finnick, and I all armed and ready to fight. Who knows what injuries the Careers have sustained in the darkness of the jungle. Wiress and Johanna devour their meal voraciously, and even Beetee, who is woozily awake, manages to eat a little before going back to sleep. We share experiences around the fire – the monkeys, the fog, the wave. Finnick is almost clinical in voice. Detached. Johanna tells us about losing Blight when the lightening crashed into the tree. About the blood rain. We drown the fire in sand.

Finnick hasn't slept, so he lies in the shade to nap. Peeta goes to fill some of the woven bowls with water. Johanna and I both offer to guard. Johanna only slept an hour at most, but she's wired, rocking back and forth on her feet. She watches Finnick for a minute, and when she's sure he's asleep she sits next to me.

"How did you lose Mags?" she asks quietly.

"In the fog. She sacrificed herself so we could get out of the woods," I reply.

"That sounds like Mags," Johanna says, and is quiet for a while. "She was Finnick's mentor, you know." All the venom from earlier has evaporated from her tone. Her eyes grow soft as she turns back to Finnick. "She was half his family," she mutters, almost to herself. She holds her axe and idly drops the blade into the sand repeatedly, almost as if she's self-nurturing herself with the repetitive thud. I imagine if Haymitch had come in here with me instead of Peeta. If he'd thrown himself into an excruciating death in an attempt to save me. I feel sick. "I'm going to sleep," she says as she stands. Johanna struts away from me and throws herself down next to Finnick.

I stare at the woods. I stare at the water. I wait for something to happen. Peeta comes out of the jungle and sets down the bowls of water. He kneels next to me and gingerly ties the spile back around my waist. He sits and leans his back against mine, dividing the area to guard. Feeling him pressed against me makes my muscles start to quiver. He senses the shift and slides his hand over mine. I should tell him. He should know he shouldn't get himself killed for a corpse.

"Peeta," I breathe. My heart hammers in protest, but I know what I need to say.

"Yeah?" he asks softly, his eyes still on the water.

"I think I'm bleeding," I say.

"Where?" he probes with some panic in his voice, turning around to face me. I look at him and he knows what I mean. His eyes drop to my stomach. "How do you feel?"

"Tired. Dizzy. My head hurts." None of these are good. I know Haymitch thought he'd somehow get us both out, but I don't think I have that kind of time. Peeta's eyes flit back and forth across my face, as if he's seeing a specter. As if the words aren't real. As if they can't be.

"Well then we just need to make sure the Games end soon," he says emphatically.

"How do we do that? Kill everyone in their sleep?" I say sarcastically, looking over my shoulder at our Allies. I know that's not what he means.

"I think the Gamemakers will take care of that for us. You just need to make it a few days." He's practically begging, as if I have control over this. He's asking me not to give up.

"Peeta, I'm not leaving this place," I whisper, taking his hands in my face. We've barely touched since entering the Arena, and I remember what his skin feels like in my hands. I remember what his body feels like against mine. A sob escapes his mouth and he buries it in my neck. "This was decided before either of us even got in here," I breathe.

"I'm not saying goodbye to you," he whispers.

 _You don't have to. I already did._


	27. Chapter 27 - Confrontation

The sun rises and pelts down on us directly from overhead. _Must be noon,_ I think absently. As if it really matters. Across the water, I see an enormous flash, and the electrical storm begins again. The clap is deafening, and our sleeping Allies all wake to watch the spectacle. After the twelfth bongs silence, Johanna starts to panic, crawling backwards in the sand.

"Hey! Hey!" Finnick says, steadying her shoulders.

"That's when we lost Blight. That's what happened right before the blood rain," she spits out.

"The rain must not have reached the beach or it would be stained. We should be safe here," Peeta offers.

"Tick tock," Wiress clicks behind me, clutching a stick and peeling away the papery bark with nervous fingers. I watch her the way I'd watch a child, fascinated but clueless. Tick tock. Twelve bongs at midnight. Twelve bongs at noon. "Tick tock," she ticks, her head off kilter.

Slowly I rise and walk down beach, my jaw slightly open, my eyes narrowed in thought. "Oh," I breathe.

"Katniss, what is it?" Peeta asks, standing up behind me. The others notice me and step forward too, staring at my back.

"Tick tock," I say quietly. It's going in a circle. The lightening tree. The blood rain. The fog. The monkeys. "Tick tock," I say again, before I turn to face them. "Tick tock, this is a clock." I can almost see the hands ticking our lives away around the Arena. Each hour a new horror, a new twisted invention by the Gamemakers. "Wiress, you're a genius!"

Relief floods over her. Someone has finally understood what she deduced hours ago. "Midnight," she says.

"Yes, it started at midnight," I confirm, and then a memory strongly takes hold of me. Sitting across from Plutarch and his golden Mockingjay watch. _It starts at midnight._ I nearly choke. Why would he warn me?

I can see it on their faces as it pieces together, and then Peeta's face suddenly drops. "We need to move!" He's right. We're at least halfway through the blood rain hour, which means the fog will billow down on us if we don't get away from the woods.

I try to get Beetee to stand, but he throws his hands up in protest. "Wire," he mumbles.

"It's okay, we've got Wiress right here. She's coming with us too," I say, but he just mutters it again.

"Oh, I know what he wants," Johanna announces, and grabs a giant spool of wire sitting with the weapons and drops it in his hands. "Seems pretty worthless to me, but he took a knife in the back for it. I don't know what kind of weapon it is. I guess you could use some as a garrote, but can you really imagine Beetee garroting someone?" she says sarcastically.

"He won his Games with wire," Peeta remarks. "It's the best weapon he could have."

Her ignorance does not ring true to me. She's trying to play the fool, just like she did in her Games, and I'm not buying it.

"Seems like you would know that, seeing as you call him Volts and all," I quip. Johanna's eyes narrow at me dangerously, and I plant my feet firmer into the ground.

"Yeah, that was really stupid of me, wasn't it?" she says with fire, stepping closer. "I guess I was just distracted keeping these two alive while you were off doing what? Getting Mags killed?" She spits the words in my face and I close the space between us. "Go ahead. Try it," she says, her voice low, her eyes locked on mine. "I don't care if you are knocked up, if you don't get out of my face, I'll rip your pretty little throat out." My heart is pounding right now, telling me to pounce. It's unlikely I could take down Johanna hand-to-hand in the condition I'm in. This doesn't help Peeta.

"Let's move," I order, trying to play it down. Peeta inserts himself between Johanna and me, eyeing her warily as we start to grab our things and move down the beach. We're silent for a bit, until Finnick finally speaks.

"I'd like to go to the Cornucopia and just watch," Finnick says. It's as good a plan as any. We can get attacked from any angle, but we'll see it coming. We have enough people to watch the perimeter and we can observe the jungle as the hours pass. I wouldn't mind a chance to go over the weapons again. I think how different things are with Allies, as opposed to this time last year when I had to do everything on my own. It's not bad, as long as you can ignore the fact that eventually you'll have to kill them.

Beetee and Wiress will probably die on their own. If we all needed to run, how far would they get? _How far would I get?_ I think morbidly as my hand drops to my stomach. Johanna I could kill if it came down to protecting Peeta. Frankly, I could kill her if she looked at me funny. My eyes drift to Finnick. I shake my head and keep moving. I can't do that. Now that we know the jungle is fully of precisely timed traps, it's not likely he'll die in an accident. Maybe I can arrange some kind of confrontation with the Careers, but even as I process the thought my stomach turns. I don't know how to do this.

We scour the Cornucopia for weapons to add to our artillery. Most of the strategic arms have already been taken, but we are able to load up on some knives and other small pieces. Beetee seems markedly improved. Even some color has returned to his face. His eyes seem clear and he wipes his glasses on his undershirt.

"Clean this?" he asks Wiress, handing her the bloody wire. She trots happily to the edge of the island, dropping the coil of wire in the sand and running over it with her fingers. She sits, dangling her feet in the water, singing some nonsense children's song about a mouse and a clock.

"She's brilliant," I call up to Beetee, who fidgets a little as he looks over his glasses at me.

"She's more than brilliant. She's intuitive," he replies. "She can sense things before anyone else. Like a canary in one of your coal mines."

Finnick looks at me with a confused brow.

"It's a bird we take down in the mines to warn us if the air's bad," I explain.

"What does it do? Die?" Johanna chortles.

"It stops singing first, but yeah, if you don't leave it eventually dies. And so do you." I say quietly. I don't want to talk about dead songbirds in mines. It reminds me too much of my father. Of the canary that Maysilee Donner left my mother that she used to draw in the margins of old family books.

"Two," I hear Wiress state, pointing as the fog rolls down the corresponding wedge of the Arena. I find an extra stock of arrows and load them into my sheath. I notice Peeta squatting down, drawing something with the tip of a blade into a large, flat leaf. I look over his shoulder and see he's sketched a map of the Arena. He's labelled everything we know – _lightning, blood, fog, monkeys_. He shifts a few down and labels _wave_. In the wedge where we saw the person collected in pieces, he writes _monster_. We haven't said anything to Johanna, but given the proximity to the electrical storm, I assume that was probably Blight. She doesn't need to know that happened to him.

"Notice the tip of the Cornucopia?" Peeta says, pointing. It marks noon. "That's the top of our clock." Everyone moves from their posts for a moment to check his work. "Did you guys see anything else?" he asks, raising his eyes to Johanna. She shakes her head. "I'm going to mark the ones where the Gamemakers' weapon follows us out past the tree line," he says, marking an X through the beach with the wave. "Well, it's more than we knew this morning." We all nod in agreement, and that's when I notice it.

Our songbird has stopped singing.

I swiftly load an arrow and spin around, finding Gloss. He lets Wiress slip to the ground, her throat slit open in a wide jester's smile. My arrows lodges itself in his temple and he drops to the ground. Almost simultaneously, Johanna sends an axe flying and it buries itself in Cashmere's chest, and the siblings lay next to each other, their blood mixing in a pool between them. I imagine they probably lied together in childhood too, like Prim and me. _Boom. Boom. Boom._ In my periphery I see Enobaria charge from the far side of the Cornucopia, teeth borne, knife drawn. Finnick launches a trident and she dives back behind the golden husk, taking cover. Finnick takes chase. Brutus advances from the other side, hurling a spear toward our crew when a woman charges out of nowhere and throws all her body weight against him. He falls back into the water.

"Who was that?" I scream, taking count of our people. Finnick comes back around the corner, having lost Enobaria as she fled back to the mainland. I load an arrow but there's nothing to see. The water stills and a body bobs up, eyes fixed and glossy.

"Seeder," Johanna breathes. "Seeder!" she screams, about to dive after her, but the cannon booms and I know it's too late. I grab her shoulders and she struggles against me. "Let go of me!" Johanna cries, throwing her arms back and jamming my stomach.

Everything goes white. My knees buckle and slam down into the sand, my stomach screaming in pain. My ears are ringing, but in the background I hear Johanna cry out, "I barely touched her!" Peeta and Finnick are beside me. My vision comes back slowly, but it's like I'm looking through a plastic straw.

"I'm fine! I'm fine!" I insist as I push them away. I dig my hands into the sand and force myself back up. My shirt slides as my hips go up first, and I try to pull it back down quickly as I right my torso.

"What the hell is that?!" she bellows as she sees my blackened stomach, stepping back from me. Peeta's with me now, his hands in my hair. I'm dizzy and overwhelmed. I want to push him away but I know it will make him feel better if he thinks he's helping.

"Hey," he mouths, but I can't hear it over the ringing. I try to focus on him. _Focus on his hands. Focus on his hands._ The pain rages up my left side and into my shoulder. I breathe slowly and let my chest settle. The pain starts to dull.

"I'm good, I'm good," I repeat unconvincingly. The ringing starts to dull and my vision becomes clearer, although the edges still have a dark hue to them. And that's when the earth begins to move. At first I think it's just me, but as everyone falls to the ground I realize the island is whirling.

We cling desperately to the island as it spins ruthlessly. I scream as my left shoulder throbs, but I don't loosen my grasp. Finnick edges his way a few inches to me and throws his body protectively over mine. Blades and other loose weapons from the Cornucopia begin flying out. I watch as Peeta barely avoids a sickle that barrels out with such force it breaks off a chunk of rock before sailing into the water. I look up and see a box flying down toward Finnick and me. "Move, Finnick! Move!" I scream, but he knows if he dodges the item I'll take the full brunt of it. Instead he braces his body over mine and I hear sickening crash as it smashes into his head. His body goes limp. "No! No no no no!" I mutter as I try to grab a hold of him, but the centrifugal force flings him away from me and he drops into the water. The island hurls to a stop, with no deceleration, and we are all thrown a few yards. I'm immediately up on my feet circling the island. Where did he go down? Where did he go down?

"Katniss!" Peeta calls and points to a pool of blood in the water. I sprint toward the edge of the island and dive in. I swim down, the salt burning my eyes as I scan the dark water for Finnick. I see him a few feet ahead of me, bobbing listlessly in the water. I hook my elbows in the crooks of his arms and kick furiously toward the surface. I gasp for air as I lift him above my head. Peeta and Johanna reach down and drag him from the water as I climb up next to them. My stomach burns and my world teeters dramatically to one side. I cling to the sand and look over at Finnick.

His head is bloody, but head injuries bleed a lot. That's not going to tell me anything. He's unconscious, though, lying there bronzed and washed up on the sand. "Is he breathing?" I choke out. Johanna drops her head to his chest. "Does anyone know how to do the thing? Someone do the thing!" I cry illogically. I don't know how to breathe him back to life. I stare at him and morbidly think this is should be good. Now I don't have to kill him. Then why am I losing my mind at the thought of losing him? "Sit him up," I order, and Peeta pulls Finnick's chest up. I careen back my hand and slap his back as hard as I can. I know he's not choking, but maybe? I hit him again, and my hand stings. Peeta follows my lead and slams his hand into Finnick's back. Finnick comes to life with wild eyes, spitting and coughing water onto the ground. I fall backward and look at the sky, my stomach searing in agony.

I hear another splash and see Johanna swimming out to Wiress. This is a waste of time. Wiress is dead. We heard the cannon. But I watch as Johanna pries the wire from Wiress's hands, spitting bloody water from her mouth before she turns and swims back. She throws it on shore and pulls herself back onto the island, red water dripping onto the sand. Despite her feigned ignorance, she knows the value of this item. We find Beetee tethered to the Cornucopia. Clever man. He'd never have been able to hold on, plus he avoided the barrage of flying pointy things.

I don't see Seeder. I assume she's sinking down to where it's quiet and dark.

"Let's get out of here," Peeta says, weaving his hand in mine. We all nod. _Eight left._

 **A/N: Hey there all my lovely readers! Just an FYI – I'm headed to Comic Con this weekend (gotta get my FanGirl on). I will do my best to write, but it's likely there won't be another update until Monday. Since I try to post daily, I didn't want you all to think I'd abandoned ship. I'll try to post earlier if I can (I might squeeze one more in before I go), but I imagine I'll be too busy geeking out over Matt Smith and perfecting my Hermoine cosplay to get much done while I'm down there. Please don't leave me! I promise more to come! Adoringly yours, theatricalveggie.**


	28. Chapter 28 - Voices

"Let's get off this stinking island," Johanna exclaims. Finnick has recovered quickly, and I get the odd feeling this isn't the first time he's nearly drowned. We collect our things and decide to head to the beach at twelve o'clock, but as we start forward we each head in opposite directions.

"This way, right? The Cornucopia points at twelve," Finnick states.

"Who knows what way we landed. It could be pointing anywhere now," Johanna quips. Everyone starts bickering over who is right, but the island spinning around has disoriented all of us.

"It doesn't matter!" I shout over the din. "At ten, we'll see the wave and we'll know where we are again."

"Anyone got a good gut feeling?" Johanna asks impatiently. We just pick a wedge and go. With our luck it will be the wave and our whole party will be wiped out, but I decide to ignore the pestering feeling inside my head telling me something is wrong.

When we arrive at the beach, Peeta peers into the jungle. "Well, it should be monkey hour, and I don't see any in here. I think we're safe for the time being."

"Relatively," Johanna snarks.

"I'm going to go tap a tree. You need water," Peeta says to me as he gently takes the spile from my waist and steps inside the tree line. Finnick follows him to stand guard, and I decide to lie down. I feel besieged by the pain in my stomach, like it's radiating out to the rest of my body and flooding my limbs. I let my eyes fall closed, and I start to panic, like maybe I won't wake up. But my body is too tired, my eyelids too heavy, and soon I'm drifting off.

I don't normally dream in the Arena. I don't let myself sleep deeply enough to allow it, but almost as soon as I close my eyes, I hear my sister scream. The nightmare is so potent that I can't breathe. Her cry is so full of fear and pain that my blood runs ice cold throughout my body, and I shoot up, forcing myself awake. That's when I hear it again and realize this is not a dream. My sister is somewhere in this Arena.

Before I can even process direction, I hear Peeta scream out her name. My eyes find his back as he drops the spile to the ground and takes off sprinting into the woods, forgetting where he is or what might lie ahead. I shoot to my feet. I see Finnick race behind him, giving chase, and my legs take flight. I hear another scream, unfamiliar in tone but just as tortured as Prim.

"Annie!" Finnick bellows into the woods, suddenly disregarding Peeta and instead chasing his own demons.

It feels like time is moving in slow motion, but mere seconds have passed since I woke up and bolted up the beach toward the woods. I need to get to her. "Prim! Where are you?" I cry desperately, but as soon as I reach the tree line my body slams full force into something hard. I drop the ground and I know immediately I've dislocated my shoulder. I ignore it. This isn't a forcefield, but there's something solid and nearly transparent blocking off the forest. There must be a way around this wall. I scratch at what looks like thin air and break my nails. I pound with my fists.

"Stop!" Johanna says, grabbing my wrists with her hands. I swat at her as I try to get by.

"Prim! Prim!" I scream.

"Look!" Johanna points, and that's when I see it. On the other side of the nearly imperceptible wall, a jabberjay sits idly on a branch, preening its feathers. I've never seen one before and it takes a second to register what it is, but when the beast opens its mouth out pours Prim's voice. "It's just a stupid Mutt! They're trying to trick you," Johanna insists.

My memory flits back. Yes, a jabberjay would explain it. Prim isn't here with me. The momentary relief evaporates as quickly as it materialized, though. "A jabberjay repeats what it's heard. Where do you think it got that sound?" I reply viciously. Somehow, somewhere, someone is hurting my sister.

I begin at the wall again when I see Finnick and Peeta barreling full force out of the woods.

"Stop! Stop!" Johanna and I scream, waving our arms, but the two slam full force into the wall. Finnick's nose gushes blood and he reaches his hand for his face. Peeta is more disoriented than anything. He can clearly see me, but he's trapped in his own hellish cacophony of sound. The jabberjays scream at them, and I hear Peeta's father. Rye. Bannock. Prim. My mom. Prim. Prim. Prim. For Finnick, however, it's only one voice over and over again. A terrified, confused girl. He buries his head in his knees and rocks, realizing he'll need to wait out the hour. Peeta presses his hand against the wall and I mirror him on my side.

"Stay with me. Stay with me." I beg through the wall. His eyes meet mine – tortured, lost. He can't hear me. "Stay with me," I mouth.

"Always," he mouths back, and he drops to his knees, leaning against the wall and covering his ears.

That's when they descend. Instead of a few revolting muttations, hundreds flood down from the forest, screaming blindly in a _carefully orchestrated chorus of horror_. The minutes that drag by are like a leisurely devastation. With every shriek of Prim's voice I flinch. It sounds dull on our side of the wall, but I sense everything is amplified on the inside. Even Beetee turns away from the noise. Johanna hurls her axe repeatedly into the transparent barrier, but it doesn't make a dent. At the end of the hour the wall dissolves on its own. Peeta and Finnick are a mess. Finnick hasn't stopped rocking, and Johanna tries to calm him. Peeta is physically shaking, trembling in my hands.

"I know, I know," I soothe, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

"It's not real, it's not real," Peeta drones to himself.

"They got that sound from somewhere!" Finnick snaps, rocking himself.

"You think –" Peeta starts.

"That's exactly what I think," Finnick spurts, and Johanna leaves her hand on his shoulder.

"It's unlikely your families have met harm," Beetee says, and everyone's eyes shoot up to the fidgety man as he adjusts his glasses. "It would be very easy to manipulate any audio sample into something like that. All of your families have been interviewed at one point or another. The Capitol has their voices. It's remarkably simple. A school child in District 3 could do it." I gape at him skeptically.

"Besides, Snow wouldn't be that stupid," Johanna chimes in. "Everyone in Panem loves your sister. He wouldn't touch a hair on her head, or there'd be rioting in the Capitol itself." She throws her head angrily up at the sky. "And you can't put everyone in here!" she screams. I stare, mouth agape. No one, _no one_ , has ever spoken so openly about the Games. "I'm getting the spile," she mutters under her breath, and I grab her hand.

"Wait, no. The birds…"

"I'm not like the rest of you," she says, shaking my hand away like it's branded her skin. "He doesn't have leverage over me anymore." Her voice grows quiet. "There's nobody left that I love." She stomps into the forest.

I let myself believe Beetee and Johanna because the alternative is sickening. Peeta's head leans against my chest. I know he's feeling me breathe. Listening to my heart. Reminding himself that I'm alive. I don't have to thank him for going after Prim. She's his little sister, too. But watching him choose her life over his own, without a second's thought… I lean down and kiss his lips lightly before I rub his palms and smooth out the tension. After a while, I catch Finnick's eyes on us again.

"What's going on with your arm?" Finnick asks, his face still buried in his knees, his voice small like a boy.

"Oh god, Katniss," Peeta says, realizing part of my body is not where it's supposed to be. My arm hangs limply at my side. My shoulder joint is visibly deformed, with a gaping indentation in the muscle.

"I hit the wall," I say, feeling dumb. "I've seen my mom put shoulders back in place. I could probably talk someone through it," I offer, looking around. Peeta agrees, but when he gets to his feet he's clearly still shaking too much to help. Johanna returns from the jungle and seems almost giddy at the prospect of resetting my arm. I lie on the sand and instruct Johanna and how to pull and push my arm back into its socket. I'd expect anyone to be at least somewhat apprehensive, but she slams my shoulder back into place with no hesitation. I scream, but it only lasts a second and then the relief is immediate. My arm tingles and I want to sink into the sand.

Peeta drops down next to me and takes my hand. We sit for a while, and then he turns his head and whispers under his breath, "He's in love with Annie Cresta, I think," his eyes drifting toward Finnick. Peeta knows who Annie is. He studied all the Victors. I nod. For a couple minutes everyone tries to regain their composure, but we all snap to attention when we hear a loud thud in the segment next to ours. We look up and watch as a ball of ice the size of my first pelts down from the sky and shatters into the ground. Like the monkeys and the jabberjays, at first it's just one or two, but soon hundreds of balls hurl perilously toward the earth.

"We should move over a segment, so we have a safe space between us and the active sector," Beetee says warily. We agree and collect our things. The sound of the crashing ice persists, beating the earth and every living creature on it until they are bruised or bloodied or dead. Peeta sits on the sand in the four o'clock segment, redrawing his map and adding a _JJ_ in the jabberjay wedge and _HAIL_ for the ice storm.

"At least we know where we are now," he says.

We decide to make camp, at least for the next few hours. There are only two Careers left to the five of us. Johanna fills one of Finnick's woven bowls with water. Finnick braids a net for fishing and he and Peeta walk to the salt lake. They collect fish and I sit on the shore and clean them. The three of us dry off and reapply ointment. Beetee seems busy with something, sketching in the sand and then erasing it again. Johanna watches the tree line for predators – Capitol-created and tribute alike.

When the heavens boom we all look up and find the Capitol seal blazen across the sky. It ticks through the fallen while the anthem of Panem plays cheerily behind it. We take in the new additions – Cashmere. Gloss. Wiress. Mags. The morphling who gave her life for Peeta. When Blight flashes across the screen, Johanna looks away. She suspected he was dead and tries to uphold her cold façade. "He wasn't much, but he was from home," she says quietly. We don't mention the monster. The last face in the air is Seeder. We're all quiet, staring at her until she evaporates in the dusky sky. Sixteen dead in two days.

"They're really burning through us," Peeta mutters to himself.

"Who's left? Us and District Two?" Finnick asks.

"Chaff," Peeta says without a thought, not even looking up. He must be keeping an eye out for him for Haymitch. I should tell the others I saw him, but I stay silent. If Chaff wanted everyone to know where he was, he'd be here. He's clearly playing some kind of stealth angle, just like he has in 8.

I start to reorient my thoughts when a parachute drops from the sky and lands between us. Peeta opens it to find a pile of bite-sized rolls. "These are from your district, right Beetee?" he asks, holding up a roll for inspection. I'd expect Beetee to smile or at least have some positive reaction, but instead he stares at the bread curiously.

"Yes, those are from Three. How many are there?" he asks. Finnick takes the bread and lays them out on one of the mats, counting them twice to ensure his accuracy.

"Twenty-four exactly," Finnick replies. "How should we divide them?"

"Why don't we each eat three now, and whoever is alive in the morning can decide on the rest?" Johanna offers. I don't know why, but this makes me laugh. Her eyes dart to mine, almost approvingly.

After the ten o'clock wave we move our camp to that segment. Theoretically, we should be safe here for the next twelve hours, assuming the Gamemakers don't take action and the Careers don't launch an attack. We eat the salty fish and the bite-sized rolls. We drink lukewarm water. Our dinner is met by a serenade of clicking insects in the eleven o'clock segment. I imagine pinchers that peel off your skin and poke out your eyes. I swish some water in my mouth and spit in the dirt. We lay out mats on the sand and decide to sleep.

Peeta and I offer to take first watch. Finnick should rest and Johanna has barely slept since the Games started. No one trusts Beetee on watch, but he doesn't offer anyway. Our three Allies lie down to rest, and Peeta and I sit back to back again, his eyes on the sea, my eyes on the trees. For a long time we just listen – the sound of the breeze over the lake, the sound of our hearts pulsing steadily in our chests, the sound of water breaking and receding and pushing forward again.

"Katniss," Peeta says, interrupting the silence.

"Hm?" I hum back, keeping my eyes on the woods.

"We both know what the other is trying to do," he says. My heart picks up its pace, as if it's running a race in my chest and the rest of my body is unaware. "I think this is all going to come to a head here very quickly. Whatever is going to happen is going to happen soon." He's right. Tributes are falling quickly and brutally. There are hours left to our lives. "Katniss," he turns into me, taking the pendant from his neck and dropping it in the palm of my hand. I sweep my thumb over the mockingjay and the golden locket pops open, exposing its secret contents – a weapon against my heart. A picture of my mom, my sister, and Gale. "Your family needs you, Katniss." He just says four words. Your family needs you. He doesn't need more than that.

My family needs me. He's not just offering me to let me live, he's offering me a life. I can go home, pull Prim into my arms, take care of her and love her, watch her smile and listen to her laugh. I can marry Gale, have a partner who is also a friend. Someone who will love me fiercely and take care of me when I have no more care to give. Someone I can trust. Peeta wants to give me everything. My chest swells painfully. I look at Prim's picture, at her straw-colored hair and innocent smile.

No.

No.

The only way Prim is safe is with me dead. I know this. And the only way this happy little fantasy works is with Peeta dead, and that's not something I can even begin to process. Because it's not a happy little fantasy, not without him.

We are not talking about this, because I know he's right. My family will be devastated by my loss, both emotionally and logistically. My fortune does not carry past death. They will be forced out of Victors' Village and back to the Seam. They will live in destitution. Am I really saving Prim? I am. I know I am. Because if Peeta survives, _when_ Peeta survives, he will take her in. He will take in my mom. They aren't just my family anymore. They're his. All the Everdeen girls are his.

Peeta perceives the shift on my face. He knows he's losing ground. "Katniss," he starts.

"What about you?" I say, my eyes still locked on the necklace. What it means. What he's offering me.

"Nobody needs me," Peeta whispers. There's no self-pity in his voice. He's thinking literally. His family won't starve. There's no one that needs him to stay alive.

"I do," I breathe, so lightly I barely hear the words myself. I swallow the rock living in my throat. "I need you."

He tries to argue but I crash my mouth into his. I move my lips against his mouth, and I feel his protests struggle in his throat before he pushes his fingers into my hair and kisses me back. "Katniss please," he breathes into my mouth, and I knot my fists in his shirt and pull him closer. I crawl into his lap and wrap my legs on either side of his waist. We're panting for want of breath, but neither of us can stop. We both know what this is. We both know this is the last time. He bites my bottom lip and tugs my earlobes and tries to memorize lips with his. I feel him, I feel the effect of his kiss running the lengths of my body, sending shivers to the tips of my fingers and down my legs. I slow the kiss, my lips feathering over his. Soft. Calm.

My fingers fumble with the zipper of his jumpsuit, and I slide it down, stopping at his waist. He knows what I'm doing. He lifts my shirt up slightly, knowing my jumpsuit is already in pieces, and pulls me into him, pressing the skin of our torsos together.

"I just want to feel you," I whisper, and I focus on his skin on mine, burning and fiery and present and here and alive. I drop my forehead to his shoulder and breathe. He slides his hand behind me and scratches my back.

"Katniss," he starts.

"Don't say it," I whisper, banishing the goodbye hung on his lips.


	29. Chapter 29 - Plans

The crash of lightening striking the tree at twelve sends our bodies apart. The others wake too, listening to the twelve bongs and watching the electric storm. Johanna angrily covers her face and rolls over. Finnick remains seated, staring out at the night with dead eyes. I assume he dreamt of Annie, a ghoulish nightmare filled with the discord of jabberjay screams. He rises to his feet and walks over to us on the beach.

"I can take over if one of you wants to get some rest," Finnick offers.

"Katniss, why don't you go lie down?" Peeta says. I've slept much less than he has, and I'm sure whatever is going on inside my body will appreciate the rest. I nod and rise to my feet. Peeta walks me over to the mat and I find a spot next to Johanna. Peeta rests his hand on the side of my face, sweeping his thumb over my cheekbone. His eyes are pale under the moonlight, and for a second he looks like an apparition, a figure visiting me in a dream rather than a tangible boy right in front of me. "You'll make a great mother someday," he whispers, kissing my cheek and turning back toward Finnick.

The line could not be more perfect. He's playing for sponsors, which will help us stay alive, but it also folds perfectly into kindling for the rebellion. It incites the people who think the Capitol has killed my child to rise up. It offers a moment of mourning between two almost-parents, a loss that is familiar to many in the districts too starved to carry their child to term, who have felt their child wither and die in their bellies. It also has a double meaning for me alone – that I can have a life with Gale when this is all done. Peeta knows I've never wanted children, but he's saying I have a choice. He's offering me a choice.

I squeeze my eyes closed, hoping the cameras have not captured the tears welling up. After a short while, though, I can feel myself drifting under. When I wake in the morning, everyone else is already up watching another parachute descend from the sky. I assume Peeta earned us this one with his performance from last night, but when we open the silver string, it's another gift from Beetee's district – twenty-four bite-sized rolls. I imagine, though, that the bread is not an unintentional offering to the baker's son. We each take five rolls, leaving eight in our reserve, including the leftovers from last night. No one says it, but eight will divide perfectly after the next death.

I sit on the sand and stare at our Allies as we all eat our bread. Finnick pops the entire roll in his mouth, while Beetee nibbles at it like some kind of rodent. Something grates in the back of mind, and I wonder how long we can keep this alliance up. It was more obvious after last night's tribute recap. The numbers are too low to stay together much longer. The five of us together should be able to take down Brutus and Enobaria, but then what? We turn on each other? If we split up, they are more likely to be killed in a confrontation with the Careers. Of course, so are we.

"Come on, I want to teach you to swim," I say to Peeta, tugging his shirt.

"I already know how to swim," he replies with a grin,

"You call that swimming?" I smile back.

"Just go with her. Your flirting is going to make me puke," Johanna says, shoving Peeta away from her on the mat. He stands on his feet and follows me to the water. To keep up pretext, we both wade in and I tell him how to do a couple different strokes. He improves quickly, and after a few minutes he doesn't look quite so much like a soaked rat. At first I catch Johanna watching us, but eventually she retreats to the shade for a nap. Finnick is focused on weaving more fishing nets, and Beetee is fiddling with his wire. I know the time has come. After a triumphant lap, Peeta surfaces right next to me, smiling widely.

"That wasn't bad, right?" he says.

"That was great," I say with less enthusiasm than he was hoping for. "Look, the pool of tributes is down to eight. I think it's time we took off," I say under my breath. He keeps his face steady, although a flicker in his eyes tells me he's recognized what I said. I can see his brain churning through my proposition.

"I think we should wait until Brutus and Enobaria are gone. Beetee is planning something, some kind of trap, and if we leave now it might become a trap for us, too," Peeta replies.

"The second the Careers are dead, they're going to turn on us," I reply.

"What if they don't?" Peeta asks.

"Don't be naïve," I jibe back, although it digs at the back of my mind. I can't see Finnick turning on us. I close my eyes and remember he didn't play defensively in his Games. He captured and skewered his opponents. I have no reason to think he won't do the same to us. Except that as I stare up the beach at him, I don't see a ruthless killer. I don't see a playboy from the Capitol. I see a complicated, tired man who cares more than he should. Peeta watches my face.

"I still think we should wait until the Careers are dead. We help with whatever Beetee is planning, and then we take off," he says.

I nod slowly. If we take out the Careers, I can help Peeta survive in the woods. I have the spile, so we'd have water and food. He could outlast them. I drop my hand unconsciously to my stomach. I, on the other hand, won't survive the long game, but it's the best case scenario I could leave Peeta with.

"Okay," I say. I notice I'm mindlessly scratching at a scab, and it starts to peel off at my fingers. Peeta picks up a handful of wet sand and runs it over his skin, which rubs away the dark, stained crust and leaves behind fresh, baby pink skin.

"Hey Finnick!" I bellow up to the beach, and he throws his eyes our way. "Come here! We figured out how to make you all pretty again!" I call out. The three of us exfoliate our skin with the wet sand. When we finish, I apply the gray ointment anyway. Maybe it will help protect these delicate spots from the sun.

Beetee calls us over and it appears Peeta was right, he has been scheming. "I think we all agree our next move is to take out District Two," he says, looking around at our group. We nod in consensus. "It's not likely they'll mount an attack again being so dramatically outnumbered. We could hunt them, but that would take a significant amount of time, energy, and resources."

"Do you think they know about the clock?" I ask.

"I'm not sure if they understand the clock, but they've certainly figured out the jungle is full of danger. They may have even figured out the sectors or the circular motion of the attacks. It's hard to know what they've been able to deduce," Beetee replies. "Surviving this Arena is more than battling one another until no one is left. It's about claiming earth. Normally the Careers take the Cornucopia, but since we know that's under the control of the Gamemakers, they'll likely leave it alone. What is the next place they'd try to claim? The next safest place?"

"The beach," Johanna replies. "But we've already taken the beach."

"Precisely. So if you were the Careers, what would be your next move after that?" He looks out as us as if we are a class of children, prompting some kind of response.

"I'd stay where I knew I was safe but out of sight. Somewhere where I could keep an eye on us," I reply.

"The tree line," Finnick adds.

"Excellent," says Beetee. "Here's what I propose. At noon the electric storm will begin and lightening will strike the tree. After the event ends, we have twelve hours to run a wire from the tree down to the water. When the lightning strikes the tree at midnight, anyone in the salt water or on the beach, which will still be soaked from the ten o'clock wave, will be electrocuted." His voice is certain. Confident.

It all seems kind of fantastical to me, but it could work. It's just like one of the snares Gale sets, but with a more scientific element to it.

"And where will we be when this happens?" Finnick asks.

"Far enough in the jungle to be safe," Beetee replies.

"Then the Careers will be safe too, if they are in the jungle," Peeta replies.

"That's true. Which is why we have to surrender the beach to them and hope they take it," Beetee adds. That seems like a lot to hope for.

"Won't that eliminate the sea as a source of food?" Finnick asks.

"Indeed it will, but Katniss has found food in the jungle. We're not dependent on the salt lake, but they may be," Beetee says encouragingly, offering me what I think is a smile but more looks like a grimace.

My mind churns. Peeta and I should leave after this plan is executed, regardless of its success. Taking out the seafood will cripple all the tributes I'm not with, and in the end, I only want to be with Peeta.

"I say we try it," Peeta says. "It's better than hunting them down in the jungle."

Finnick looks at Johanna. He doesn't want to move forward without her. All of us agree, or we aren't doing it. "Fine," she mutters.

Beetee wants to inspect the tree before noon, so we break down camp and head to the twelve o'clock wedge. Beetee is still too weak to traverse the jungle on his own, so Peeta and Finnick alternate carrying him. I let Johanna lead. It's a straight shot, she can't get us too lost. I load my bow and guard the rear. As we near the top of the wedge, Finnick insists I take the lead.

"Katniss can hear the forcefield," he explains.

"Hear it?" Beetee questions, his eyebrows raised.

"Only with the ear the Capitol reconstructed," I say with some feigned confidence, but he's clearly not buying it. He doesn't give me away though. I gather a handful of nuts to toss toward the forcefield, but I don't need them. I can clearly see it humming fifteen feet or so above the lightening tree.

"We'll be fine if we stay below the tree," I instruct, and everyone drops their things. Beetee immediately begins assessing the tree. We divide the remaining duties. Finnick guards Beetee, trident at the ready. Johanna taps a tree for water. Peeta gathers nuts. I move down the segment slightly and hunt. When I hear the rush of the ten o'clock wave, I head back to camp. I squat in front of Peeta to clean my kill, but when I lean forward to grab a blade, pain shoots up my side and I drop to my hands.

"Katniss? Katniss?" Peeta calls as he rubs my back. I'm on all fours, hunched over. I try to breathe through the pain, pulling air through my teeth. It radiates out and shoots into my shoulder and down my arm. Everything just seems confused to me, and for a moment I can't quite remember what I'm doing. Focus. Focus. I open my eyes and stare at the ground. I find a twig and keep my eyes on it. Focus. Nausea churns my stomach and I swallow hard. I don't know how long I stay like this, but the pain starts to ease and I drop to my elbows, pressing my forehead into the earth. My body gleams in sweat. I wish Haymitch would stop sending us stupid bread. I need salt. I'm sweating buckets of it out of my body.

"Are you okay?" Peeta whispers, and I nod. I look over and Finnick has a worried expression on his face, but when he catches me staring he starts cleaning the tree rat. He's not really accustomed to land creatures, but he's making due. More waste than if I'd done it, but I was busy digging my fingernails into the dirt and trying not to vomit.

We roast the nuts and cubes of meat. Peeta tries to get me to eat but the idea of food turns my stomach. I rest my head on my knees and wrap my hands around my ankles. Underneath my fingers, I notice my skin is puffy and swollen. I press my hands into my legs and my fingerprints stay for a moment before the spaces fill with fluid. I stop. I'm careful not to mention this to Peeta.

Next to us, the insects start clicking again, the volume swelling as the hour presses on.

"We should move," Johanna insists. "We have less than an hour."

We don't go far, only to the blood rain segment. We sit and eat our food, chatting quietly and waiting for the electrical storm to start. Beetee asks that I climb above the canopy and watch for any pertinent information. I oblige, although my stomach screams as I reach for the first branch and hoist myself up. At twelve exactly, the bongs begin and the tree blazes white and blue as the lightning thrashes the core again and again. I drop down and report my findings to Beetee, who seems satisfied with my detailed albeit unscientific description. I sit next to Peeta, but the pain in my abdomen sears. Unlike the previous episodes, it doesn't seem to ebb. I shouldn't have climbed the tree. I bury my face in my hands and try to wait it out.

When the storm ends we take a meandering route back to ten o'clock, where we intend to stay until late tonight. Beetee essentially gives us the afternoon off, and we sit on the beach as he plays with the wire some more. We take turns napping. I sleep longer than everyone else and don't take watch. I'm insatiably fatigued. When I wake I'm disoriented, and it takes me a minute to realign myself – where I am, what I'm doing.

Finnick decides to have one last feast before we lose the seafood. He collects armfuls of oysters and vibrantly colorful fish. Peeta and I clean the loot, sitting side-by-side in the sand as Finnick sprawls out on the beach. Peeta cracks open an oyster and gives a light laugh.

"What?" I ask, looking over. Inside the oyster is a pearl – tiny and iridescent and delicate and dark like the sea. He pulls it out with his fingers and drops it in my hands. "For you," he says, smiling. I roll the smooth treasure in my palm. It reminds me of the stone from the lake that I left in our train car. It reminds me of the pearl nestled in my ring. It reminds me of promises made in the dark of the night, in the early morning light, under blankets and in secret and at the kitchen table over breakfast. "Hey," Peeta nudges my knee, trying to wipe the serious look from my face.

"Thank you," I whisper. I meet his gaze and I find myself staring down my greatest opponent. The greatest obstacle keeping Peeta alive. The smile evaporates from his lips.

"The locket didn't work, did it?" he murmurs.

"It worked," I reply.

"Not how I wanted it to," he mumbles, and he stares at the oysters as he shucks them open, not speaking to me. A parachute drops, delivering another two dozen rolls from 3 and a spicy red sauce for the seafood. Everyone gorges themselves until they can't hold another bite, but I can't seem to swallow anything. I have a hard time following the conversation. I listen but forget what we are talking about or who was speaking. I try to focus, but it only lasts a sentence or two and then I'm lost again. I'm not sure anyone notices but Peeta. There is leftover food, but raw fish won't keep so I suggest we toss it back in the sea so the Careers won't take advantage. I'm not feeding my enemies.

Peeta knows I didn't eat, but he coaxes some water in me. He can read the signs. So can I. I'm deteriorating. I tuck the pearl in a pocket of my jumpsuit. I want the pearl collected with my body. I want to have it with me underground.


	30. Chapter 30 - Nothing

The anthem blares in the sky, but there are no new faces tonight. I am sure tomorrow's sky will be littered with them, mine included. If there is a tomorrow night. Peeta's right – things are coming to a head.

I sleep for a couple more hours and Peeta wakes me around nine. We trek over to the lightening tree, and by the time we're there my legs give out from under me and I'm drenched in sweat.

"She's not looking so hot," I hear Johanna say to Finnick, who just stares at me silently. Peeta moves me so my back is against a tree. At least only one side of me is exposed. I watch as Beetee begins to unspool the wire, leaving yards of the stuff loose on the ground. He starts to meticulously wrap the tree in what at first appears as random, but soon gives shape to an intricate pattern. He's like a spider, spinning a complicated trap for his prey. I drift off.

Finnick gently shakes me awake and I gather they are plotting. I hear the wave rushing in the ten o'clock section. This is where Beetee reveals the rest of his plan.

"We need to get the wire to the beach as fast as possible. Johanna is the swiftest on her feet, so I'll need her to run. Peeta, you'll follow closely behind as guard," Beetee says. Peeta's eyes dart to me.

"No. Absolutely not. I'm not leaving Katniss," he asserts. I can see Beetee grow frustrated.

"Katniss is not well enough to make the run. We can all see that. She'll stay here with me and stand guard with Finnick," Beetee insists.

"Why can't I stand guard here and Finnick go with Johanna?" Peeta throws back.

"You're telling me that if we came under attack, you'd prioritize me and our mission over saving Katniss?" Beetee counters. He's right. Peeta's not sacrificing me to this plan. But something about what Beetee said gives me pause. Mission. Not plan, not scheme, not trap. Mission.

Beetee is with the resistance.

Beetee is planning something more than just a trap for the Careers. I don't know what, but something is happening.

I force myself to my feet. My world tilts radically to one side, but I hold steady.

"Beetee should have the two strongest guards. I'll go with Johanna. I don't need to move as fast as her. Frankly it will be easier to ward off potential attackers with some distance," I state.

"Katniss –" Peeta starts, but I cut him off. If Beetee is planning something, I want Peeta here for it. And I want Peeta with Finnick.

"There's no time to debate this. If the girls are going, they have to go now. Period," Beetee states.

"I'm going," I say with finality. Haymitch's words ring in my ears. _Stay alive. Stay together, and stay alive._ These two concepts have become mutually exclusive. We can't do both. And if the choice is separate and keep Peeta alive, then that's what we are doing.

I throw my sheath of arrows over my shoulder and load my bow. Every slight movement is agonizing, but I refuse to let it show. Peeta comes up to me, sapphire eyes betraying his concern.

"I don't like this," he says under his breath.

"It's the best chance we have," I whisper. It's the best chance _he_ has. Hopefully the plan works and we eliminate the Careers. If not, he'll be with Finnick when they attack. And if I'm right, if this mission is more than what it appears, if it's truly a revolutionary act, then he'll be here for that too. It's the best scenario I can come up with, given the circumstances. He's distressed at the whole situation. "It's okay, she'll drop the spool and we'll come right back," I whisper, taking his face in my hands. I'm lying. I know I'm lying.

"Not here, though," Beetee inserts himself. "To be safe meet us in the two o'clock segment. Don't even think about going to the beach." I nod to acknowledge I've heard him, but my eyes never leave Peeta.

"Don't worry. I'll see you at midnight." Before he can protest I press my mouth to his. Gentle. Soft.

"I'll see you at midnight," he repeats, as if trying to convince himself.

I look at Johanna, who already has the spool in hand. "Let's go," I order, and she takes off into the woods toward the beach.

It's an effort to keep up. Everything inside me is telling me to curl my body up, to drop to the ground, to close my eyes. Instead, I stay focused on her head as it bobs around trees and underbrush as Johanna works her way toward the shore. I dart my eyes around the periphery but see no oncoming threats. I feel my bow slack a bit and realize I've released some tension in my arm. It feels like pins and needles. I'm starting to go numb.

I hear a sudden whir, like a zip flying past me, and Johanna stops. The golden wire has snapped, coiling at her feet like a snake. I'm trying to process what this means, but my mind is still too cloudy. Johanna sprints up the hill at me, and I'm not quick enough to take aim. She plows into me and I drop hard onto the jungle floor, her body on top of mine. I scream in pain and she shoves her hand over my mouth. It feels like I've been skewered, and tears stream from my eyes as my stomach revolts.

"Shh, shh," she whispers, and I struggle against her. I hear footsteps, and realize Brutus and Enobaria have followed the wire into the jungle, tracking us. Before I know what's happening, Johanna pins my arm under her knee and removes a knife from her boot. So this is how it ends. When her knife plunges into my skin I cry out, and for a second it feels like her fingers are fishing through my flesh. There is a horrible ripping sensation below my elbow and I feel warmth drip down my forearm and pool in my palm. Johanna soaks her hand in my blood and smears it across my throat. "Don't. Move."

She pops up from her crouched position. "Hey stupid!" Johanna screams, and Brutus halts his step and turns to her. "Yeah you, you big dumb oaf!" She picks up a rock and hurls it at him before taking an axe from her back and swinging it around her body. She looks vicious. She looks crazed. "Come and get me," she dares him, and takes off running into the jungle away from me.

Brutus barrels after her. I hear more footsteps and lie still. I sense Enobaria standing over me, but she must assume I'll die anyway because she moves on to pursue Johanna. Clearly she and Brutus are planning to separate our crew and tag team us one-by-one. Johanna first. I force myself to my feet, burying a scream in my throat. I'm dizzy. Between the blow to my stomach and the blood loss to my arm, I am in rough shape. I rip a piece of my jumpsuit away and tie it feebly around the gaping wound. I need to warn the others.

I grab the spool of wire and stumble through the jungle back to the lightening tree, but when I finally approach the site it is abandoned, save Beetee who is lying unconscious next to the tree.

"Peeta! Peeta!" I scream, hoping to draw the Careers toward me and away from him.

"Katniss!" I hear him bellow through the jungle, but he's not close. I drop to my knees, clutching them with my hands. My breathing is shallow. My vision is blurred. Somehow, though, I don't seem to hurt anymore. It's like I'm not attached to my body, not really.

My eyes shift to Beetee. It looks like he wrapped the spare yards of wire around a stick which he clutches in his hand. His body is charred and smoking, and I start to put two and two together. I force myself to him, crawling, until I can rip the staff from his hands. I pull until the wire is free and reach for an arrow. I wrap the end again and again until the wire is secure.

I hear a sound and look up as Finnick comes sprinting out of the jungle, blood dripping down his arm. I force myself to stand, raise my arrow and aim it directly at his chest. He throws his hands in the air.

"WHERE IS PEETA?" I scream, panicked at the sight of blood.

"I don't know, Katniss," Finnick replies, his voice calm.

"WHERE IS HE?" I scream again, tears streaming down my face. How could I have been so stupid as to leave Peeta alone with him?

"I DON'T KNOW!" he cries back. Finnick should be charging me. He should hurl his trident into my chest. But instead he stands there, eyes on mine, hands in the air, pleading. "Katniss, remember who the real enemy is."

I know those words. That's what Haymitch said. _Remember who the real enemy is._ I know what I'm supposed to do. The sky above us darkens, storm clouds churning and sparking. Finnick's eyes panic as he realizes my proximity to the lightening rod.

"Katniss, get away from that tree!" Finnick yells, but I ignore him. Instead I breathe in and aim my bow up, watching the sky. It churns like a witch's brew, and I wait until I see the formulaic sign of a strike. I release my arrow as the sky opens up. Lightening smashes into the tree and ignites the wire, chasing my arrow to the sky. When it slams into the forcefield, the entire Arena lights up. I am thrown forcefully from the tree, as is Finnick.

Everything is chaos. Above us the sky rains down fire and fury as the Arena collapses. I stare at the sky and watch in silence as the world crumbles. Beams of flaming iron plummet to the ground and molten metal drips and gathers in volcanic pools.

"Katniss! KATNISS!" I hear Peeta scream.

He's alive. "Peeta!" I yell back. I can do this. I force myself to my knees, hands clenching the ground. I push with everything I have left in me, and cry out as I rise to my feet.

"Katniss!" Peeta stands in front of me. I can't believe he's here. I can't believe he's here. I start crying as he pushes his hands in my hair and kisses my forehead. He's covered in blood, his face swollen. "We have to move. Brutus isn't far behind me." He starts to step forward but I feel my body failing, when suddenly we are both distracted by a thunderous chopping sound from above our heads. We look up.

A hovercraft appears overhead and I panic, shoving Peeta away, but when my eyes focus instead of the seal of the Capitol, its belly bears a familiar insignia. My token. A mockingjay.

 _Haymitch._

I hear Brutus roaring in the jungle, feet hammering toward us. The hovercraft opens and a small rescue basket begins descending to the ground. This is really happening. The basket lands. It's not much to see – a solid base with mesh sides strung from what appears to be some kind of synthetic rope. My heart sinks. This will only hold one person at a time. It registers with Peeta at the exact same moment.

"Get in," he orders, grabbing my hands.

"No, you get in," I scream back. We don't have time to argue about this. Brutus will be here before the rescue can make a return trip. I look over his shoulder at the jungle.

"I'll get the next one," Peeta insists. There is no next one. "Katniss –" I hammer his chest with my fists.

"Get in the basket, Peeta!" I scream in a guttural, primitive way I've never heard before. I shove him back toward the lift. I am desperate. Every other time I've used that word feels inadequate compared to this moment. I am desperate to get him in the basket.

Peeta lifts his hands to my face and crashes his mouth into mine. We're both sobbing and it tastes salty and bloody and I don't care because this is the last time I'll feel his lips. "I'm sorry," he weeps into my mouth. "I love you. I'm sorry. I love you." He pulls away and I register his face. He's saying goodbye. I don't perceive the shift in his weight. I don't see his arm swing up, the heavy spool of wire clasped in his hand. I only understand what's happening when I feel the metal slam into the side of my head. I collapse to the ground.

I don't feel pain, but my mouth tastes like iron. I'm slipping out of consciousness. I feel Peeta there, then not. My face is numb and I'm flying. I hear screaming, but it sounds far away. Distant. I can't care about that right now. I can't feel anything. The light is so bright.

And then there's nothing.


	31. Chapter 31 - White

Everything is white. The floors are white, the walls are white. People in white masks bob in and out wearing sterile white shirts. White lights flash in my face. I can't distinguish between person or place or thing. Machines whir and click and woosh, but without the adrenaline of the Arena – the constant drive to stay alive one more minute, push one more mile – the full pain of my injuries begins to set in and I cringe and curl and cry out.

Peeta.

Where is Peeta?

I try to talk but my tongue is dry and I don't remember how to form words. Instead I reach for the tubes tethering me to the machines and try to pull them from my arms and hands.

"Hold her down!" someone orders, and I feel pressure on my shoulders. That's when the panic sets in. I claw and the table and push up, but I'm forced in place.

People start cutting my clothes away from my body. The air is freezing compared to the heat of the jungle, and I wonder why I can't see my breath. My hands feel cold but my skin is clammy and wet. I can't seem to focus on any one person or thing. My pulse feels like a hummingbird, light but rapid. Someone lifts my feet and places something under my legs to keep them elevated.

"She's in shock," I hear another confirm, and they hang another bag of clear fluids on the machine.

I don't remember anything for a while, and when I come to again things are blurry. I hear some commotion and turn my head to see Beetee wheeled into the room on another gurney.

"Her breathing is erratic. Oxygens levels are low. I suspect airway reflexes are compromised," someone says.

My eyes feel heavy but my body is surprisingly light, like I'm floating above the table. The incessant, blinding white light finally starts to dim until it's nothing but darkness and quiet. Forever quiet.

I open my eyes and Haymitch is sitting next to my bed. Bed is a generous description. I'm on a gurney with the wheels in lock, tethered so I don't tip over. I have a blanket tucked over my body, so I suppose you could say I was sleeping, but I don't feel rested. I know what it feels like to be knocked out. Put under. My eyes lock with Haymitch and I tear up. That's when I realize there's a tube in my mouth, running down my throat. My muscles resists, and I'm crying and my nose is filling with snot and I feel like I can't breathe even though I know I am. I can see my chest rising and falling in a mechanical rhythm that makes it feel like it's not part of my body. I try to swallow and it feels like I'm gagging.

"Hi sweetheart," Haymitch says. I try to focus on his face, but whatever drugs they gave me aren't letting me anchor to reality easily. I probably won't even remember this later. I turn my head, which causes some pressure on the tube and I close my eyes for a minute. I find Beetee on the gurney next to me still. I turn my head back to Haymitch.

 _Peeta._

I can't talk, but he knows what I am asking. _Where is he?_ Before Haymitch can answer anything, there's movement over his shoulder and a man appears in the doorway. I know this frame. I try to focus. His hair is toe-head blonde, his torso fat. My mind catches up to what my body already knows, as I start to crawl backward in my bed. There's a Gamemaker in my room. I try to scream, but my throat is full and it stifles the noise. The machines start to beep as my heart rate soars. The medical staff comes rushing in the room and everything goes quiet again and I'm greeted by that same vulnerable darkness.

When I come back to, the tube is still in my throat. Haymitch is hunched awkwardly next to me in a metal chair. I rustle some and his eyes lift. We just stare at each other.

"I'm going to explain what happened, okay?" he says. I nod. The plan was to break us out of the Arena from the moment the Quell was announced. Rebel tributes from other districts had varying degrees of knowledge of it – 3, 4, 7, 8, 11. Plutarch Heavensbee has been, for many years now, a leader in the rebellion and a key asset in the Capitol. While most of the Quell was already laid out in plan when he took over as Head Gamemaker, there were certain elements he had control over. Plutarch's words ring in my head. _The flavor of the Games._ He got the wire in so Beetee could blow the Arena. The bread was a signal from the outside. The district of origin, the day - 3. The number of rolls, the hour - 24. _I'll see you at midnight._ The hovercraft belongs to 13. At that, I want to reach over and claw Haymitch's eyes out. He's been lying to us this whole time. Or at least omitting the truth. I asked him about 13 and he brushed me off. I'm learning quickly that Haymitch only told us a very small part of what was actually happening. He's clearly reading my face. "We didn't tell you because when the forcefield blew, we knew you two would be the first the Capitol'd go after. The less you knew, the better."

I begin scratching at my throat. The nursing staff comes rushing in, along with Plutarch and a very worn and beaten looking Finnick.

"She wants the tube out," Haymitch states with some urgency.

"It's not advisable. She can breathe on her own at this point, but she's scheduled for surgery almost immediately after we land. We'll need to reinsert it, which leads to higher risk of infection," a nurse replies, but at this point I've grabbed the tube and started pulling. "Wait! Stop! I'll take it out!" the nurse insists, her hands clasping mine. She has me lie back and I feel like I'm gagging as the tube is removed. I cough and sputter. Another nurse hands me some water but most of it I just spill in my lap.

"Why?" I cough.

"Why what?" Haymitch asks.

"Why would they go after us first? They knew who was in the rebellion. Who would have information. Why would they go after me instead of Finnick or Beetee or Johanna?" I demand, my voice breaking.

"You blew up the Arena," Finnick says.

"I didn't even know about the plan! You decided _before_ not to tell us. Why?" I stress.

"The same reason the rest of us vowed to keep you alive, even if it meant sacrificing ourselves for it," Finnick answers. Mags. The morphling. I shake that from my mind.

"You're not just another part of the rebellion. You are the face of the rebellion. You are the Mockingjay," Plutarch states. The berries. The explosion. The pin, the song, the dress that bursts to flames. I am the Mockingjay.

I think of everything Haymitch has lied about. He admitted there was a rebellion, yes. He told me limited things to keep me in submission, to keep me from asking too many questions. Made it sound like there was some big plan for me, making me wait like some fool. This was their big plan? A mascot? And if he lied so convincingly to me, under his mask of drunkenness and sarcasm, what else has he lied to me about? I know what else.

"Peeta," I breathe. My eyes flood with tears but I refuse to let them fall. I look up at Haymitch with hatred in my heart. "Where is Peeta?" I hiss at him.

"Sweetheart," Haymitch starts, and I knock everything off the side table next to my bed.

"Don't sweetheart me, Haymitch. WHERE IS HE?" I blare.

"I don't know," Haymitch replies, and drops his gaze.

"YOU DON'T KNOW? What does that mean?!" I sob out.

"We rescued as many tributes as we could–" Plutarch starts, but I cut him off.

"People," I sneer venomously.

"We rescued as many _people_ as we could before the Capitol hovercrafts showed up. We were only able to recover you three," Plutarch states, referring to me, Finnick, and Beetee. "The rest were left behind. We presume the Capitol recovered them. Finnick says he heard a cannon as he was being lifted, but we don't know who that was for as I had already left the Command Center."

My eyes dart back to Haymitch. "You promised me you would save him over me."

"I was trying to save you both," Haymitch says under his breath. The room is silent. No one dares speak, breathe, move. Finnick shifts in his seat.

"I'm sorry, Katniss. I tried, but I was barely conscious when he loaded me in the net," he whispers, shame heavy in his voice.

"He what?" I ask.

"That's how Beetee and I got here. Peeta carried us and put us in the rescue net," Finnick replies. One last feat of strength. One last stupid selfless thing to seal his fate. This isn't just Haymitch's fault. This is my fault. This is all of our faults. "It will be better for him than Johanna," Finnick adds. "They'll figure out pretty quick he doesn't know anything. And they won't kill him if they think they can use him against you."

"Like bait, Finnick? Like how they'll use Annie?" I spit back. Finnick's eyes swell, but his regret means less than nothing to me.

"Get out," I growl, and the three men just stare at me. "GET OUT!" I scream, and I hurl whatever I can get my hands on at them. They file out of the room like they are part of a funeral procession, heads hung, except for Plutarch, who seems entirely perplexed by my adverse reaction. I'm alive, isn't that enough?

No. It's not enough. My mind wanders to horrible places, dungeons and cold. I hope the last cannon was Peeta. If not, he will be mutilated. He will be maimed. He will have his tongue cut out and his skin burned and his body racked with hunger and hurt. And even if by some miracle rebel forces overthrew the Capitol, I am sure Snow's last act would be to cut Peeta's throat. I will never get him back. The best thing I can hope for is a swift death.

Peeta will fight. It's who he is. If he knows I've been rescued, he may even feel happy right now. Feel like he fulfilled his mission to keep me alive.

 _I hate him more than I hate Haymitch._

I feel hollow inside. I close my eyes but there is a terrifying emptiness that is foreign and devastating all at once. I suddenly feel like I can't breathe. I gasp and pant and choke until a sob escapes my mouth and fills the emptiness of the room. As long as I'm alive, they will torture him. As long as I'm alive, Prim will be in danger.

As long as I'm alive.

I stare at the IVs in my arms. The bags of fluids, the clicking machines. I need surgery, they said.

As long as I'm alive.

As long as I'm alive.

I convince myself that maybe if I die, they might let Peeta go. Not for a normal life. They'd probably turn him into an Avox or something. But maybe he could escape after that. Maybe my death could still save him. They'd only hurt him as long as I'm alive.

As long as I'm alive.

As long as I'm alive.

If I don't save Peeta, I'll still die. I'll just do it to spite Haymitch. The man, who, after I put our lives in his hands, turned us into pawns in his own game. I gave Peeta's life with him, and he betrayed me. _"The less you knew, the better," Haymitch said._ He's right. They shouldn't tell me anything. I can't even tell an enemy from a friend.

I stop eating. I stop drinking. They pump fluid in my arm, but they need more than that to keep me alive.

The hovercraft lands. I'm transferred to some hospital ward. Most of it is a blur. People come, blurry nameless faces with meaningless words. I close my mind and listen to the sound of the wave. The clicking insects. I refuse any medical treatment and rip the tubes from my arms. They tie me down, entreat me to be compliant, but I just stare at them with animosity. They try to prep me for surgery, but I refuse, and the surgeon on staff refuses to cut open an unwilling patient. I can hear him being reprimanded, but he stands firm. If I wasn't going to die soon I think I'd have at least one person down in this cellar I'd respect. I close my eyes for what feels like days.

"Catnip," I hear, and I find Gale is leaning over my bed. He gently smiles when my gray eyes meet his. "Hey," he smiles softly.

"Hey," I croak, but my throat is dry from neglect. Part of his face has been burned and an arm is in a sling. There are dirty bandages peeking out from under his miner's uniform. What happened to him? Something very bad has happened at home.

 _Home._

"Prim?" I gasp.

"She's alive. So is your mom," he offers, pushing a piece of hair from my face. "I got them out in time."

"So they're not in Twelve?" I choke.

"Katniss," Gale says delicately. I recognize that voice, that posture. It's the same one he uses to approach wounded animals before delivering a deathblow.

"Don't," I breathe.

Gale doesn't lie to me. He's the only one I can trust to not lie to me.

"Katniss, there is no District Twelve."


	32. Chapter 32 - Die Trying

District Twelve has always been covered in ash. Ash on your clothes, ash on your shoes, ash on your windows. Never like this, though. Everything is gray. Soot has settled on the ruins of our district. Splintered wood from shops and homes sore my eyes like bone broken through flesh. It's like walking through a corpse of what once was.

I walk home. Not to Victors' Village, but to my house in the Seam. This is where my bed was. Where I slept with my sister, her cold feet tucked in my hands. This is where we ate dinner. This is where I braided her hair. This is where my father lived. It's nothing now, not really. A landmark in a world of wreckage and nothing more. I stare up at the Village as it peers over what was once our motherland, but the survivors are nothing but orphans of District 12.

My feet walk to his house, though my mind resists. My hand twists the doorknob, though my heart seizes. Victors' Village remained relatively untouched. Peeta's in there – his smell, his things, his sheets. I open the door, though my stomach leaps to my throat. Everything is in its place. He cleaned before he left. I'm sure he assumed the house would be dormant for years after. I stand in the kitchen. In his spice rack, glass bottles of clove and cinnamon and cardamom stare at me like an unsolicited intruder. I take the cinnamon and slide it in my pocket. My feet head upstairs. I know I shouldn't do this, but I open his bedroom door. I am so overwhelmed I drop hard to my knees and feel them smack the wooden floor.

His bed is neatly made, corners tucked. On his nightstand is one of my hair ties. I stand up on unsure legs and walk to his dresser. I know what I want. I open his bottom drawer and find his blue shirt. It's soft and worn and smells like him. I take off my top and pull his shirt over my head. I can't find my breath, and I'm so suddenly overwhelmed by him, by his absence, that I can't remember how we even got here. I press my palms in my eyes and shake my head.

I open his top drawer. It's full of folded white shirts. Underwear. Socks. There's a lump in the back corner and I tilt my head and narrow my eyes. What is that? I pull everything out one at a time and drop it on the floor until I see what it is. The memory floods my senses.

 _I pull out the glass case holding the tiny cake and place it on the bed between us. A huge smile stretches across Peeta's face. "Did you make me a cake?" he whispers softly._

I let out a shaky breath as my fingers move tentatively to the case. I run my fingertip along the glass, too lightly to smudge it, but enough to feel the smooth edges, the precise corners. I carefully pick everything up off the floor and hide it again. It's too much, and at the same time, devastatingly not enough.

I want to lie in his bed. I want to bury myself in his sheets and have them leave me here. I can starve and wither to bones in a place where I was once happy. Instead, I walk out of his room and down the stairs. I close the door behind me and whisper goodbye to a life I once knew.

I trudge across the lawn to my house. The door is open, and but I just linger on the steps. A pain throbs in the left temple, and my hand raises and gingerly presses into the pain. The bruises have yellowed from where Peeta slammed the spool into my head. The concussion symptoms lasted weeks, and even now my thoughts jumble together. In a way, I like the pain. It reminds me he was here.

"Katniss, should I come down?" Gale's voice reaches me through the headset 13 insisted I wear. I realize I've crouched down on my knees, my hands pressed to my thighs. I must look like I'm on the verge of some sort of breakdown. I force myself to my feet.

"I'm fine," I state emotionlessly. I turn my back on my house and start to walk toward Town when I hear a pathetic mew from behind me. I turn around and find Buttercup, my sister's mangy orange cat. Whatever headway I'd made with him seems to be over, and he blinks at me with disinterested eyes.

"Want to see Prim?" I ask, and the sound of her name catches his attention. He moves toward me, and when he's close enough I grab him by the scruff of the neck and stuff him in my bag. He protests with claws and hissing, but once inside the canvas he seems to settle down.

My thoughts clutter in my head as I try to remember why I'm here. Why I insisted on seeing this. How any of this came to be. I use one of the techniques the doctors have suggested. I roll through what I know to be true.

 _I am Katniss Everdeen. I am seventeen years old. My home is District 12. I was in the Hunger Games. I escaped. The Capitol hates me. They have Peeta. He is probably dead. I hope he's dead. It would be better if he were dead._

I stop.

Gale asked to come with me to District 12, but he didn't push the issue when I asked him to stay in the hovercraft. I need to do this alone. The air is stifling and dry. The summer heat has descended upon the ruins, and everything feels as though it's baking and charring in the sun. The smell of rot is pungent and I breathe through my mouth. I try to stick to the road, but it's a poor decision as the streets are littered with the remains of those who tried to flee.

 _I killed you. I killed you. I killed you. And you. And you._

I list them off in my head. I can't discern person from corpse. They are in varying levels of decomposition; scavengers circle the skies with full bellies and a feast below. I remember Snow's words. _"You have provided the spark that, if left unattended, may grow to an inferno that destroys Panem."_ I wonder now if his words were more than a threat. If they were somehow prophetic, that I, the Girl on Fire, would cause my district to be burned to the ground.

I wander to the train station. It lies in pieces, but this was not the work of the Capitol. Gale and Bristel knew something was brewing. Everyone in Panem could feel it. Riots broke out all over throughout the Games. When my bruises were first exposed. The bloody panties. Peeta's goodbye. The arrow. After I took down the Arena, the Peacekeepers in 12 were ordered to evacuate. Thread marched them to the train like a fleeing army, but Gale knew this was not a sign of victory, but rather imminent defeat. When the last of the armed men and women entered the car, Gale blew up the train station. It was almost precipitous of what was to come.

The electricity was cut from the district and it fell into an unforgiving darkness. Then the Capitol dropped fire from the sky, burning and bombing and burying our people. Only 814 escaped out of thousands. 816 if you count me and Haymitch. 817 if you count Peeta. Most official tallies do not count Peeta.

The 814 survivors are solely in Gale's hands. He led them out of the District and to the woods, finding refuge at the lake until 13 sent a hovercraft to recover the survivors.

My feet stop in front of the Mellark bakery. Peeta's entire family is presumably inside, or dead near here. None are in District 13. The roof has collapsed into the building and the pristine glass windows in the front are now just blackened shards. I remember Rye – his smile, his curly hair, his humor. I remember how Peeta's laugh was freer when Rye was around. I bury that somewhere in my chest.

"We can go," I state into my headpiece, and I make my way back to the hovercraft. Inside, Gale watches me with caution as I sit in the seat next to his. My bag moves, and he raises an eyebrow. I give him a quick shake of my head and he drops it, but when a meow escapes the bag I kick it and he grins wickedly at me.

"We should be back in time for dinner, and we have weapons training at 1900," Gale offers, and I nod. My surgery was nearly a month ago. The doctors told me it would be six to eight weeks before I could begin any kind of rigorous physical activity regiment, but I'm already taking part in any training that doesn't require stress on my abdomen. They were forced to remove part of one of my kidneys due to extensive damage. This was the reason for the blood in my panties, but when they ask about the pregnancy I just played my part. My spleen was severely bruised but healed on its own after a blood transfusion, rest, and antibiotics. The doctors seemed pleased when they found no intestinal ruptures, but at that point the list of injuries was so long I just started tuning them out. If they said I needed it, I did it.

I was going to let myself die. I grieved for weeks, and then I remembered our Tour. The fallout in District 4, when Peeta thought I was trying to drown myself so Snow wouldn't reap Prim. I remember lying in bed alone that night, processing the day. _I am not the kind of girl who to fill her pockets with stones and disappear into the ocean. If I go out, I go out fighting for what I believe in._ I remember the door creaking open, light filling my dark room. I remember Peeta dropping next to me in bed, not out of spite, but almost because he had to be there. Because we have always been better together than either of us has been apart. I remember curling into him, his breath shaking on my pillow. _"I'm not leaving you," I whispered. "For now," he breathed._

I'm not leaving him. I'm getting Peeta from Snow. Or I'll die trying.


	33. Thank You

That's a wrap on this one, but the story continues!

Please head over to Even If You Cannot Hear My Voice, Book 3 of what I'm now calling the Light Up Series. As always, thank you all for the reviews and favorites and follows. Things have gotten crazy busy in my life recently, and I'm not lying when I say I've been staying up until midnight then setting my alarm for five to make sure I've got these posts up. Your reviews make it all worth it!

Also, a special shout out to stjohn27 and jroseley for their continued support and feedback throughout this process. They've been here for everything I've written and I so appreciate it. You two rock my world.

Also call outs to fluffytardis, Dominions, Dancer0109, Resisting-Moonlight, deltagirl74, Sunsetorangegirl, Shellibug, Puppenschlitten, karin6824, mar071, PrincessAlica, Pari B, justreadingforfun, wonderishome, Leprechaun895, rebelsroyalty, CrazyWithABook, pookieortega, Niqachita, Ifdy, amazingshania, ryebrewster, lhaine07, LessAmused, hungoverhaymitch50, sixela872, LessAmused. I know I don't reach out to everyone individually, but I know all your handles and whenever I see you post a review I get super happy.

So… head on over to Book 3! I've already written some of the later chapters, I can't wait to get to them!


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